THE  STARLING 


Sarah  held  herself  very  still,  waiting. 


THE  STARLING 

By 
JULIET  WILBOR  TOMPKINS 

AUTHOR  OF 

The  Seed  of  the  Righteous,  A  Girl  Named  Mary 
At  the  Sign  of  the  Oldest  House,  Etc. 


V  can't  get  out — I  can't  get  out"  said  the  starling 

—STERNE 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

JOHN  ALONZO  WILLIAMS 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1919 
THE  BOLUS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PPE38  OF 

BRAUNWORTH    IL   CO. 

BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN,   N.  V. 


THE  STARLING 

1 

THE  little  Sarah,  hovering  at  the  gap  in 
the  hedge,  had  hotly  wondered  if  any  one 
wanted  anything  on  earth  as  she  wanted  com- 
pany. She  always  saw  it  as  a  bright  tide,  pour- 
ing in  past  the  green  barrier  to  spread  over  the 
lawn  and  leap  up  the  steps,  streaming  through 
the  silent  house,  even  into  the  sacred  library, 
filling  the  air  with  laughing  sounds,  and,  when 
it  retreated,  leaving  some  glorious  little  visitor 
up  in  her  own  room,  that  they  might  whisper, 
whisper,  half  the  night,  with  smothered  giggles 
and  a  pretense  of  silence  when  a  maternal  hand 
thumped  the  wall.  Sarah  composed  notes  of 
invitation,  set  imaginary  tea  tables,  dramatized 
wild  games  with  the  piano  at  full  blast,  candy 
pulls,  charades,  pillow  fights — little  girls  who 
walked  with  their  arms  about  her,  boys  who 
last-tagged  her  on  the  steps — oh,  loving,  riot- 
ous, high-hearted  Company!  Spent  with  ex- 
citement, she  would  fling  herself  upon  her 

1 


2138481 


2  THE  STARLING 

mother :  "Couldn't  I  have  just  three  little  girls 
in  to  supper?"  And  always  the  same  apologetic, 
half  whispered  answer: 

"You  know,  dear,  it  does  disturb  your  fa- 
ther!" Her  strange  little  mother  feared  most 
things — spiders,  cows,  boats,  tramps,  dogs, 
wind,  elevators,  the  dark — until  it  was  a  won- 
der that  she  had  the  sheer  heroism  to  live ;  but 
above  all  she  feared  disturbing  Mr.  Cawthorne. 

Sarah  had  a  generous  imagination.  If  an 
aunt  sent  her  a  postal  card  and  she  had  ice- 
cream at  dinner,  she  would  go  to  bed  feeling 
that  the  day  had  been  rich  with  event.  "A 
great  deal  happens  to  me!"  she  often  told  her 
mother,  with  the  sudden  shine  in  her  eyes  that 
made  older  people  lay  kind  hands  on  her.  And 
so  she  saw  the  old  place  as  offering  a  thousand 
unsuspected  joys  to  company,  if  once  it  got  past 
the  ungracious  barrier  of  the  hedge. 

How  Sarah  hated  the  hedge! — a  solid  ever- 
green rampart  twenty  feet  high,  clipped  to  a 
hard  squared  evenness,  with  here  and  there  a 
patch  of  dead  brown  in  its  gloomy  side,  always 
smelling  of  dust,  tasting  of  dust  when  one 
nipped  off  a  fat  green  tip  in  passing,  and  keep- 
ing the  ground  in  its  shadow  stark  and  deso- 


THE  STARLING  3 

late.  Neighbors  pointed  it  out  to  strangers 
with  the  California  pride  in  mere  size,  but  the 
strangers  shivered,  especially  if  it  was  a  gray 
day.  Two  giant  eucalyptus  trees  dripped  their 
heavy  leaves  like  slants  of  rain  over  the  en- 
trance, and  the  dark  mansard  of  the  house  was 
all  that  could  be  seen.  The  radiant  garden,  the 
old  croquet  hoops  in  the  grass  and  the  pepper 
trees  full  of  natural  cradles  would  never  have 
been  suspected  from  the  outside.  And  the  roses 
that  had  once  softened  the  very  mansard  with 
their  high  sprays  had  been  cut  away,  as  their 
tapping  and  their  nesting  birds  disturbed  Mr. 
Cawthorne. 

Sarah  was  eleven — a  slender  little  girl  with 
stick  legs  and  a  pale,  delicately  in-curved  face 
slipped  like  a  crescent  moon  between  two  long 
falls  of  dark  hair — when  the  first  miracle  hap- 
pened. There  were  to  be  three  in  her  life,  and 
the  later  ones  had  more  obvious  consequences, 
but  none  could  match  the  astonished  ecstasy 
this  first  one  brought,  or  the  revelations  that  it 
left  behind. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  some  tradi- 
tion that  Saturday  afternoon  is  a  time  of  com- 
panioned pleasures  must  come  down  in  the 


4  THE  STARLING 

blood  of  little  girls,  for  it  always  roused  an 
ache  of  dreams  and  desires.  Sarah  was  hidden 
away  in  a  curve  of  the  gravel  drive,  trying  to 
comfort  herself  with  poppy-shows.  To  make 
poppy-shows,  punch  half  a  dozen  holes,  thumb 
deep,  in  gravel  or  soft  earth,  set  in  the  bottom 
of  each  a  little  pink  rose  or  a  tuft  of  heliotrope 
or  any  bit  of  garden  loveliness;  cover  with  a 
fragment  of  glass,  dust  the  whole  over  with 
gravel,  then  rub  a  small  space  clear  and  look  in. 
The  effect  is  fairylike,  mysterious,  beautiful. 
But,  of  course,  the  real  charm  lies  in  having 
some  one  else  to  make  rival  poppy-shows,  and  to 
exchange  looks.  Sarah  composed  half  of  hers 
in  the  name  of  Ethel  Alice,  an  imaginary 
cousin.  She  was  flat  on  her  stomach  with  her 
eye  glued  to  a  particularly  happy  combination 
of  blue  lobelia  and  white  jasmine — Ethel  Alice's 
— when  her  mother  came  hurrying  in  search  of 
her.  She  was  a  sweet,  soft  little  woman  with 
something  girlish  and  eager  about  her,  some- 
thing scattering  and  hazy  and  lovingly  kind; 
only  her  back  was  so  frail  that  she  always  had 
to  be  doing  things  to  ease  it,  and  she  was  so 
easily  frightened  that  Sarah  gave  a  "Whoo-oo !" 
at  the  sound  of  her  step,  to  spare  her  a  startled 


THE  STARLING  5 

jump.  She  jumped,  nevertheless,  coming  on 
her  child's  prostrate  body,  then  laughed  at  her 
foolishness  as  she  dropped  down  on  the  grass. 
Mothers  as  a  rule  can  not  fold  up  easily,  and 
require  chairs,  but  Sarah's  could  curl  down  like 
a  child  or  a  cat.  She  braced  an  arm  across  her 
back,  the  fingers  hooked  into  the  other  elbow, 
but  she  was  thinking  only  of  the  news  that 
glowed  in  her  face. 

"Darling,"  she  said,  "something  nice  is  going 
to  happen!"  They  beamed  at  each  other  with 
the  good  news  hovering  between  them  like  a 
shining  bird,  ready  to  burst  into  song.  "A 
week  from  to-day,"  she  went  on,  deliciously  pro- 
longing the  thrill,  "you  are  going  to  put  on  your 
best  white  dress — no,  you  shall  have  a  new  one !" 

"With  a  pink  sash?"  Sarah  burst  in. 

"With  a  pink  sash.  And  you  shall  stand  by 
the  door  and  welcome" — the  song  was  begin- 
ning to  trill — "as  many  nice  girls  and  boys  as 
we  can  find!" 

"Mother !  A  party !"  Sarah's  voice  sang  out 
so  gloriously  that  Mrs.  Cawthorne  put  up  a 
warning  hand,  and  they  smothered  their  laugh- 
ter in  an  embrace.  "But  father — !"  Sarah 
whispered. 


6  THE  STARLING 

"He  is  going  away,  dear,  overnight.  They 
want  him  to  speak  down  at  Palo  Alto  Saturday 
evening,  and  he  can't  get  back." 

"What  got  him  to  do  it?"  Sarah  marveled; 
but  she  could  not  stop  for  explanations.  "Oh, 
mother,  company — my  company!"  she  cried. 
"Can  we  play  games?" 

"All  you  like." 

"And  have  things  to  eat?" 

"Ice-cream  and  cake  and  candy  and  lemon- 
ade— "  They  had  to  embrace  again. 

"And  make  a  noise?" 

"Raise  the  roof!" 

"Oh,  mother !"  Sarah  looked  as  if  she  were 
going  up  in  rockets  and  Roman  candles,  and  a 
touch  of  trouble  stilled  her  mother. 

"But  we  can't  have  things  different  when 
your  father  is  home,  darling,"  she  urged,  as  if 
some  one  had  accused  her.  "I  tried  to  have 
parties  when  we  were  first  married — my  back 
wasn't  so  poor  then,  and  I  had  more  spirit ;  but 
it  wasn't  any  use.  It  made  him  miserable,  and 
that  made  me  miserable,  and  I  don't  think  the 
guests  had  a  very  good  time!"  She  laughed, 
a  gay,  frank  little  laugh,  as  young  as  Sarah's. 
"There's  no  use  doing  things  for  happiness  if 


THE  STARLING  7 

you  don't  get  happiness  out  of  them,"  she  con- 
cluded comfortably.  "Now  let  us  make  a  list 
of  the  guests." 

They  wrote  down  twenty,  chance  acquaint- 
ances or  children  of  old  family  friends.  There 
were  no  schoolmates,  for  Mr.  Cawthorne  had 
theories  about  education,  which  he  regarded  as 
an  affair  solely  of  the  intellect.  Sarah  at  her 
books  was  a  credit  to  his  system  of  governesses 
and  tutors,  and  he  had  never  seen  Sarah  hover- 
ing at  the  gap  in  the  hedge,  aching  with  her 
great  desire.  The  twenty,  however,  satisfied 
her  gloriously,  and  the  notes  were  sent  about 
that  afternoon  by  the  gardener.  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne would  not  have  a  telephone. 

So  began  the  most  purely  exquisite  week  that 
any  one  ever  lived.  The  twenty  accepted  with 
a  promptness  that  suggested  an  outside  desire 
to  get  inside  the  hedge.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  never 
expected  or  wanted  to  talk  about  anything  but 
the  party,  and  she  listened  to  all  Sarah's  pro- 
posals with  the  promising  openness  of  a  fairy 
godmother.  The  very  secrecy  of  their  plans 
and  preparations  added  flavor — for  there  was 
no  sense  in  making  Mr.  Cawthorne  think  that 
he  was  going  to  be  disturbed. 


8  THE  STARLING 

"Of  course,  I  would  not  keep  anything  from 
him  that  he  ought  to  know,"  Mrs.  Cawthorne 
occasionally  said,  in  one  of  her  spasmodic  at- 
tempts to  act  like  a  parent.  "You  understand 
that,  Bunny  dear!"  And  Bunny  obliviously 
nodded  away  the  interruption.  It  had  not  yet 
occurred  to  her  to  question  their  general  house- 
hold law. 

By  Tuesday  night  it  seemed  to  Sarah  that 
she  could  not — literally,  physically,  could  not — 
wait  for  Saturday.  Already  the  old  house  was 
peopled  for  her  with  flitting  presences ;  a  bright 
maze  of  game  and  laughter  was  continually 
weaving  before  her  eyes.  Lessons  proved  so 
impossible  that  they  were  given  up — unobtru- 
sively, in  order  not  to  worry  Mr.  Cawthorne; 
and  Miss  Wright,  the  governess,  put  in  her 
time  hunting  favors  and  decorations  and  gifts 
for  prizes.  They  could  count  on  two  free  half 
mornings  while  Mr.  Cawthorne  was  at  the 
University,  dealing  with  the  Origin  and  Growth 
of  the  Romance  Dialects.  In  one  of  these  the 
piano  was  tuned,  and  the  other  saw  a  general 
rush  of  housecleaning.  When  Friday  came, 
Mrs.  Cawthorne  was  talking  party  from  a 
couch,  where  she  lay  very  flat,  and  the  circles 


THE  STARLING  9 

under  her  eyes  looked  as  if  they  had  been  dug 
out  by  a  heavy  thumb ;  but  her  radiant  interest 
never  faltered.  According  to  all  the  laws  of 
little-girl  nature,  Sarah  ought  to  have  been 
unbearably  cross  by  that  time ;  but  she  was  only 
shiningly  still  instead  of  suppressedly  noisy. 
And  then,  at  dinner-time,  the  library  door 
opened  to  let  out  trouble.  Black  frost  never 
fell  more  blightingly  on  a  rosy  garden.  Word 
came  that  Mr.  Cawthorne's  head  had  begun  to 
ache,  and  that  he  would  have  only  a  cup  of  tea. 

The  very  maid  who  brought  the  word  looked 
pale.  Mr.  Cawthorne's  headaches  were  rare, 
but  they  lasted  twenty-four  hours,  darkening 
and  hushing  the  house  like  a  dreary  enchant- 
ment. He  would  do  nothing  for  them,  asked 
nothing  but  the  quintessence  of  his  beloved 
silence.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  met  the  news  with  a 
feeble  murmur  that  it  might  pass  off  in  the 
night,  but  Sarah,  after  a  stunned  moment,  hid 
the  wreck  of  her  dreams  in  her  elbow  and  stum- 
bled out  of  the  room.  The  sound  that  came  back 
from  her  flight  made  the  two  women  stare  at 
each  other  in  the  human  equality  of  grief. 

"The  pore  child !"  said  Nelly,  ready  to  cry  her- 
self;  but  Mrs.  Cawthorne's  look  was  suddenly 
fierce. 


10  THE  STARLING 

"She  has  got  to  have  it!"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

She  herself  had  headaches  weekly,  sometimes 
daily,  and  took  reckless  powders  for  them.  She 
knew  the  danger  to  one's  heart,  but  she  had  long 
ago  learned  to  look  on  her  body  as  a  hopelessly 
poor  thing,  to  be  patched  up  any  old  way,  and 
not  bothered  about  more  than  necessary.  Her 
spirit  flew  just  above  it  and  let  it  follow  as  it 
could.  She  who  feared  all  the  little  harmless 
creatures,  every  kind  of  safe  adventure,  could 
have  faced  death  and  judgment  any  day  with  a 
friendly  smile.  She  could  not  now  tell  her  hus- 
band that  Sarah  must  not  have  her  heart  broken, 
but  she  was  quite  ready  to  commit  a  crime  to 
prevent  it.  Her  hand  did  not  falter ;  she  was  only 
glad  that  she  had  had  the  brilliant  idea  as  she 
slipped  one  of  her  strongest  powders  into  his 
cup  of  tea.  She  carried  it  to  him  herself. 

"For,  if  it  did  hurt  him,  I  don't  want  Nelly 
in  any  way  involved,"  she  thought  composedly. 

Then  she  waited,  smiling  a  little,  pleasantly 
hopeful,  her  hands  holding  up  her  back.  In 
half  an  hour  the  library  door  opened  again  and 
Mr.  Cawthorne  came  out.  At  a  distance  he  did 
not  look  formidable — a  small  gray  man  with  a 


THE  STARLING  11 

slight  limp ;  it  was  only  close  up,  when  he  smiled 
in  his  pointed  beard,  that  one  felt  the  power  of 
his  unchangeableness. 

"I  believe  I'm  going  to  weather  it  this  time, 
Lisa,"  he  said,  rubbing  eyes  and  brow  with  a 
slow  hand.  He  had  a  slow,  drawling,  humorous 
voice,  and  students  who  cared  little  about  Old 
French  took  his  course  for  the  famous  bite  of 
old  Cawthorne's  tongue.  Because  his  fine  eyes 
smiled,  they  believed  that  he  was  secretly  kind- 
ly. "What  did  you  do  to  that  tea?"  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne  jumped,  but  he  was  not  looking  at  her. 
"Was  it  very  strong  or  a  new  kind  ?"  he  added, 
sitting  down  at  the  table. 

Her  breath  of  relief  came  on  a  shake  of  secret 
laughter.  "Both,"  she  said. 

"Well,  it  did  me  good.  I  think  I  can  eat  some- 
thing." 

She  saw  him  supplied,  then  carried  hope  to 
Sarah,  who  came  up  out  of  despair  at  a  single 
bound.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  listened  at  her  hus- 
band's door  several  times  that  night,  and,  hear- 
ing him  breathe,  always  crept  back  to  bed  with 
a  silent  laugh.  He  was  perfectly  well  in  the 
morning,  and  mid-afternoon  saw  him  set  off. 

The  old  mansard  watched  him  pass  the  hedge, 


12  THE  STARLING 

then  burst  into  activity  all  over  at  once.  It 
seemed  to  be  shouting  a  festal  chorus  as  its 
furniture  rolled  from  room  to  room  and  its 
walls  and  chandeliers  took  on  festoons  and  blos- 
soming branches.  Miss  Wright  had  come  to  help, 
the  two  maids  and  the  gardener  were  all  in  it, 
for  this  was  to  look  a  party  as  well  as  be  one, 
and  there  were  games  and  jokes  culled  from 
magazines  that  needed  elaborate  planting.  And 
then  at  last  it  was  time  to  put  on  Sarah's  new 
white  dress  and  tie  her  pink  sash,  and  the  com- 
pany was  coming  in  through  the  hedge. 

At  first,  Sarah  was  conscious  only  of  terror. 
She  gave  her  limp  hand,  but  she  was  lost  in  a 
blurred  confusion ;  trying  to  speak  was  like  try- 
ing to  scream  in  a  nightmare — an  agony  of  ef- 
fort resulting  in  a  dim  hoarse  squeak.  Old  ac- 
quaintances offered  an  easy,  "Hello,  Sarah!"  and 
strangers  smiled  shyly  into  her  face,  giving  her 
her  chance ;  but  the  hedge  seemed  to  have  grown 
up  about  her  soul,  leaving  no  gap.  The  moment 
of  greeting,  instead  of  being  a  warm  rushing 
together,  was  ending  in  a  dismal  shrinking 
apart,  and  a  congealing  stiffness  threatened  the 
party. 

Help  came  from  a  tall  blond  boy  who  lounged 


THE  STARLING  13 

in  after  the  rest  and  stood  beside  Sarah,  looking 
on  with  an  ease  that  was  steadying. 

"I  dare  say  it's  too  much  of  a  kid  party  for 
me,"  he  explained,  "but  I  can  help  you  run 
things,  and,  if  you  have  prizes,  I  won't  win 
them — not  many  of  them,  anyway."  His  hands 
identified  treasures  in  his  pockets.  "I'm  Robert 
Russell,  Jr.,  you  know.  My  father  is  Doctor 
Russell,  so  I  dare  say  that  is  why  you  asked  me. 
Everybody  knows  him,  of  course.  I  suppose 
those  chairs  are  for  Going  to  Jerusalem.  I 
know  a  better  way  to  fix  them — makes  it  harder 
— but  you  can  do  it  this  way  if  you  like.  I'm 
glad  you're  going  to  have  games ;  I  hate  dancing. 
The  girls'  hair  always  gets  in  your  mouth."  He 
surprised  a  laugh  out  of  her,  a  breathless  gasp 
that  seemed  to  open  up  the  hedge,  letting  a 
gleam  of  the  real  Sarah  shine  through.  Success 
was  evidently  a  matter  of  course  to  him,  but  he 
drew  up  one  shoulder,  then  the  other,  in  a  lordly 
approval  of  himself  that  included  her. 

"Want  me  to  get  things  going?"  he  offered. 
"I  am  pretty  good  at  that,  usually.  You  see,  I 
happen  to  know  a  lot  of  jokes  and  conundrums 
and  things.  I  sort  of  pick  them  up.  You  never 
heard  me  do  an  Irish  story,  did  you?  Of  course, 


14  THE  STARLING 

it's  your  party,  not  mine — I  promised  m'mother 
I'd  remember  that.  But  if  you'd  like  me  to  tell 
one  now — " 

"Oh,  if  you  would !"  Sarah  whispered. 

He  stepped  out  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 
graceful,  handsome,  assured,  and  Sarah  thought 
she  had  never  seen  any  one  so  like  a  fairy-tale 
prince ;  not  dreaming  that  she  herself,  stick  legs 
and  all,  with  her  delicately  crescent  face  up- 
lifted between  two  failing  curves  of  dark  hair, 
would  have  made  a  delightful  fairy-tale  princ- 
ess. From  that  moment  the  party  was  a  suc- 
cess. The  first  laugh  took  the  frost  out  of  the 
air,  and  the  program  went  with  a  swing. 

It  was  very  curious.  All  that  bright  eve- 
ning Sarah  felt  the  party  going  on  about  her, 
and  yet  she  could  not  seem  to  get  into  it.  Every- 
thing that  she  had  dreamed  came  true  for  the 
others:  they  galloped  through  the  games  and 
found  the  concealed  gifts  and  won  the  prizes  in 
a  glory  of  laughter  and  flying  feet ;  but  Sarah, 
breathless,  smiling,  frightened,  seemed  always 
to  be  following  after,  or  standing  alone,  or 
grasping  in  vain  for  some  speech  to  fling  out 
as  her  confident  guests  flung  their  happy  voices. 
If  they  would  have  clustered  about  her  and 


THE  STARLING  15 

given  her  time,  she  felt  that  she  could  have  done 
it — oh,  splendidly !  But  they  all  knew  their  way 
and  scampered  along  it,  sauve  qui  pent.  Sarah 
could  have  loved  any  one  of  them,  but  they  had 
it  settled  whom  they  loved,  and  it  was  only  their 

own  good  time  that  concerned  them. 

* 

Robert  Russell,  Jr.,  assumed  complete  charge, 
led  the  games,  ordered  the  children  into  line, 
made  them  laugh,  yet  checked  them  when  they 
grew  too  uproarious,  and  held  always  the  undis- 
puted center.  At  intervals  he  came  back  to 
Sarah  to  explain  his  methods,  and  the  burning 
admiration  in  her  lifted  face  must  have  touched 
him,  for  he  exchanged  mottoes  with  her  and 
told  her  that  they  did  things  very1  well  at  her 

house. 

^*t 

"Whenever  you  want  any  heljiwith  a  party, 

I'll  come,"  he  offered.     "You  jt^st  tell  me  in 

•  , 

plenty  of  time,  for,  of  course,  1*8%  asked  a  good 
deal.  It's  because  I'm  lively,  I  suppose." 

She  could  show  him  herself.  "I'm  lively,  too," 
she  said  in  an  eager  whisper.  "Inside  I  can  be 
all  jumping  and  dancing  and  making  lovely 
jokes.  But  I  don't  know  how  to  get  it  out." 

That  surprised  him.  "Why,  you  just — open 
your  mouth,"  he  decided. 


16  THE  STARLING 

Sarah  opened  it  and  he  waited  with  interest, 
but  only  a  rush  of  laughter  came. 

"Well,  if  you  can  laugh  like  that,  you've  got 
something  to  start  on/'  he  assured  her.  "I  knew 
you  weren't  a  stick.  I  said  so." 

The  implication  brought  a  wretched  flush. 
Robert  did  not  suspect  what  he  had  done,  but  a 
guest  who  stood  near  turned  on  him  with  cool 
patronage.  She  was  a  composed,  efficient  little 
pony  of  a  girl,  two  years  older  than  Sarah,  with 
a  glorious  mass  of  red-gold  curls  and  an  odd 
white  face  that  would  have  been  handsome  but 
for  too  pale  eyelashes. 

"Look  here,  Rob  Russell,  if  you  are  going  to 
be  a  doctor  like  your  father,  you'd  better  begin 
learning  what  to  say  and  what  not  to,"  she  in- 
structed him. 

Robert  bristled.    "I  didn't  say  anything !" 

"You  are  always  saying  things;  and  you 
never  think  how  you'd  like  them  yourself."  The 
girl  put  her  arm  about  Sarah,  not  affectionately 
— which  might  have  saved  the  day — but  with  an 
air  of  standing  by  her  sex,  for  which  Sarah 
was  faintly  grateful.  "You'll  have  an  awfully 
poor  bedside  manner  if  you  don't  look  out.  I 
think  Sarah  is  a  duck,"  she  added  incisively. 


THE  STARLING  17 

"Well,  so  do  I,  smarty,"  said  the  injured  Rob- 
ert. "I'm  going  to  dance  the  Virginia  reel  with 
her."  He  led  Sarah  to  the  head  of  the  forming 
lines.  "Dosey  Warren  does  think  she  knows  it 
all,"  he  complained  darkly  as  their  ways  sepa- 
rated. 

Of  all  that  difficult  evening,  it  was  the  worst 
moment  when  Sarah  set  out  alone  from  the  top 
of  the  line  to  meet  some  one  who  undoubtedly 
advanced,  but  whom  she  could  not  see  for 
fright.  She  had  been  rehearsed  in  the  Virginia 
reel  with  her  mother  and  Miss  Wright  and  two 
rows  of  chairs  and  knew  it  perfectly  that  way, 
but  Robert's  dire  word  seemed  to  have  para- 
lyzed her  faculties.  She  could  only  fumble 
through  it,  putting  out  always  the  wrong  hand, 
feeling  them  all  hurling  "Stick!"  at  her  from 
their  cruel  security.  An  Indian  method  of  tor- 
ture, pictured  in  one  of  her  books,  was  humiliat- 
ingly  vivid  to  her  as  she  ran  the  gauntlet  of  her 
terrible  guests.  And  this  was  her  dream  of 
Company ! 

No  one  else  saw.  Her  mother,  flattened  back 
now  in  the  depths  of  the  deepest  chair,  held  out 
a  congratulating  hand  to  her  when  she  passed, 
Miss  Wright  and  Nelly  beamed  on  the  general 


18  THE  STARLING 

success.  The  guests,  in  going,  came  up  to  her 
one  by  one  to  say  that  it  had  been  perfectly 
splendid,  but  even  that  momentary  importance 
could  not  comfort  her  or  let  her  in.  The  party 
was  among  their  scarfs  and  cloaks,  going  out 
the  door  with  them  and  Robert  Russell,  Jr.,  into 
the  cool  night ;  it  had  only  swept  past  her  on  its 
way.  Now  the  last  echo  of  it  had  passed  the 
hedge,  and  Sarah  turned  back  to  the  bright 
empty  rooms,  strewn  with  wreckage  of  paper 
caps  and  flowers  and  wrappings.  Her  mother 
had  apparently  fallen  apart  at  the  last  good 
night,  and  was  only  a  limp  collection  of  loose 
members  piled  in  a  big  chair;  but  Sarah's  sud- 
den pallor  roused  her. 

"Go  right  to  bed,  you  tired  little  soul,"  she 
commanded,  taking  up  again  the  burden  of  her 
limbs,  and  Sarah  was  glad  to  obey. 

She  could  not  sleep,  of  course.  Her  heart 
ached  like  a  great  bruise.  Hour  after  hour  the 
bitter  blend  of  disappointment  and  shame  and 
loneliness  poisoned  every  unforgettable  moment 
of  the  long  ideal.  She  had  been  a  failure,  a 
stick,  and  all  of  them,  including  Robert  Russell, 
Jr.,  would  remember  her  with  contempt.  To  the 
last  day  of  her  life  she  would  not  have  company 


THE  STARLING  19 

again.  Nothing  ever  came  true.  She  wished 
she  could  die. 

The  fevered  tossing  ended  at  last  in  quiet. 
Something  better  than  sleep  was  coming  to  heal 
the  trouble.  At  first  it  was  no  more  than  a 
fixed  wonder,  like  a  stare.  Then  a  soft  current 
began  to  steal  through  all  her  body,  stirring 
warmly  about  her  heart,  and  finally  running 
with  a  triumphant  thrill  down  her  right  arm. 
Sarah,  very  grave,  but  with  a  glow  in  her  wide 
eyes,  stealthily  lit  the  light,  found  paper  and 
pencil  and  bundled  herself  up  in  a  quilt.  For, 
if  she  had  an  outrageous  capacity  for  dreams, 
she  had  also  been  given  a  secret  comfort  for 
their  failure.  Brooding,  intent,  utterly  ab- 
sorbed, she  began  her  poem  of  "The  Party." 

Rhymes  sang  about  her  in  the  still  night, 
lines  that  she  could  never  have  thought  out  in 
cold  blood  came  flowing  down  on  the  current 
still  pouring  so  beneficently  through  her  being. 
An  hour  passed  like  a  moment,  and  another 
struck  before  the  inspiration  began  to  fade.  No 
realism  for  Sarah !  Her  saga  told  the  party  of 
her  dreams,  all  glow  and  music,  love  and  laugh- 
ter. The  detail  might  be  true  to  fact,  but  the 
effect  was  shamelessly,  exultantly,  life-as-it- 


20  THE  STARLING 

ought-to-have-been.  And  when  at  last  Sarah's 
head  fell  back,  the  ache  was  forgotten,  the  party 
had  been  made  beautiful  in  her  sight. 

She  was  awakened  by  a  ripple  of  laughter. 
Her  mother,  twisted  up  in  a  dressing-gown, 
stood  beside  her,  and  the  daylight  was  the  color 
of  noon.  Overhead  the  gas  still  blazed,  and  the 
bed  was  strewn  with  scribbled  paper. 

"We  began  to  think  you  had  passed  away  with 
excitement,"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  said,  laughing 
again  as  she  put  out  the  gas.  "Well,  was  it  a 
nice  party?" 

Sarah's  dazed  eyes  had  opened  on  some  bleak 
cloud,  unformed  as  yet,  but  unbearable.  Then, 
before  it  could  take  shape,  the  scattered  sheets 
of  her  inspiration  came  like  a  sweet  warm  wind 
to  blow  it  away.  There  was  her  party  in  joy- 
ous, living  lines,  romping  down  the  pages ;  real- 
ity caught  and  fixed  in  the  dream,  and  so  made 
beautiful.  The  truth  of  last  night's  experience 
was  not  actually  denied :  it  was  only  buried  and 
sown  over  with  morning  glories.  Sarah's  two 
arms  shot  up  with  her  radiant  face  between 
them. 

"Oh,  mother,  wasn't  it  heavenly!"  she  cried. 


II 


LIFE  was  more  eventful  after  the  party.  Its 
fame  spread,  and  though  it  was  never  re- 
peated, Sarah  was  hopefully  asked  to  other  par- 
ties for  years  to  come.  She  always  went  to  them 
with  the  same  exquisite  joy;  her  heart  sang, 
"Girls  and  boys — girls  and  boys !"  as  though  she 
ran  to  them,  arms  out.  But  she  always  brought 
away  an  ache.  They  frightened  and  silenced 
her.  She  stood  about  on  the  edges  of  the  crowd, 
breathless,  tongueless,  dazzled,  and  when  she 
was  carelessly  swept  into  its  evolutions,  her 
exaltation  became  a  shining  stillness  that  the 
others  did  not  understand.  Even  then  she  knew 
that  she  was  not  really  in  the  middle  of  the 
party;  but  she  looked  as  though  she  were,  and 
she  could  be  passionately  grateful  for  that. 

If  there  had  been  any  one  to  help  her,  to  lead 
her  out  a  little,  to  see  that  she  danced  well  or 
played  tennis  or  even  wore  the  right  clothes, 
the  vivid  imaginings  of  her  inner  life  would 
have  made  a  place  for  her.  She  could  think  of 
such  enchanting  things  to  say  or  to  do,  if  she 
had  known  how  to  offer  them !  But  her  mother 
21 


22  THE  STARLING 

only  kissed  her  and  waved  her  off,  not  dreaming 
that  there  was  anything  more  to  be  done,  and 
though  the  children  were  friendly  enough,  not 
one  ever  chose  her  for  a  best  friend.  And  when, 
later,  they  boasted  of  their  early  intimacy  with 
her,  she  was  simply  grateful  that  they  could  so 
remember  that  careless  acquaintance.  She  kept 
always  a  curious  innocence.  Robert  Russell,  Jr., 
sometimes  left  a  bright  trail  across  her  sky  in 
passing,  but  he  was  usually  too  occupied  with 
his  own  brilliant  affairs  to  notice  her. 

Out  of  it  all,  however,  Sarah  was  making  a 
vital  discovery.  The  mothers,  responsible,  log- 
ical and  sitting  on  chairs,  could  not  compare 
with  her  frail  little  soft  heap  of  a  laughing, 
scatter-brained  mama,  but  the  usual  father 
was  a  revelation.  He  joked  and  was  joked 
on;  he  didn't  mind  being  disturbed;  and 
when  a  child's  burning  convictions  were  laid 
before  him,  he  did  not  glance  them  over  as 
though  they  were  so  many  tadpoles,  healthy, 
no  doubt,  but  incomplete  and  scarcely  interest- 
ing to  a  mature  mind — he  talked  them  out  with 
a  thrilling  equality.  Slowly  but  inevitably, 
these  glimpses  into  other  homes  bred  trouble 
for  Mr.  Cawthorne. 


THE  STARLING  23 

The  trouble  was  very  long  in  coming  to  the 
surface.  At  sixteen  it  was  only  a  childish  out- 
burst, ending  in  tears ;  at  seventeen  the  protest 
was  scarcely  more  mature,  though  the  tears 
were — with  difficulty — kept  back ;  nineteen  saw 
the  beginning  of  righteous  courage  and  a  tend- 
ency to  argue.  This  could  be  snubbed  down  for 
a  year  or  two,  but  in  the  twenties  the  experi- 
menting young  soul  had  begun  to  ask  questions 
with  a  lurking  smile,  and  the  days  of  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne's  peace  were  numbered.  Sarah  was  clear- 
ing her  young  eyes  of  her  mother's  terrors, 
breaking  loopholes  through  the  hedge  that  held 
her  captive.  She  was  still  making  poppy-shows : 
her  eye  at  the  apertures  saw  men  and  women  in 
combinations  as  lovely  and  unearthly  as  the  old 
arrangements  of  violet  and  jasmine,  plumbago 
and  moss  rose,  under  the  magic  bit  of  glass ;  but 
she  had  learned  a  pretty  bodily  dignity  that  hid 
well  her  naive  heart.  A  stranger  would  have 
seen  her  as  graceful  and  poised,  and  quite  as 
good  a  model  for  a  fairy-tale  princess  as  in  the 
days  when  she  had  stick  legs  and  a  face  slip- 
ping out  like  a  young  crescent  moon  between 
two  long  falls  of  hair. 

Shut  in  his  library,  delving  with  the  minute 


24  THE  STARLING 

patience  of  a  boring  insect  in  a  tiny  dry  corner 
of  scholarship,  Stephen  Cawthorne  recognized 
that  he  had  a  little  girl  somewhere  in  the  house ; 
and  then  suddenly  one  March  day,  when  the 
wind  outside  perfected  the  inner  stillness,  and 
a  manuscript  that  was  a  treasury  of  rare  old 
words  had  just  been  unearthed  and  submitted 
to  his  judgment,  he  was  made  aware  of  a  grown 
daughter  facing  him  across  the  desk,  demand- 
ing attention. 

"Father,  what  am  I  for?"  Sarah  asked.  She 
could  never  do  anything  momentous — like  this — 
without  an  inner  turmoil,  a  mingling  of  dread 
and  excitement,  that  only  battle  and  murder 
would  have  justified;  but  there  was  a  thrill  of 
drama  in  the  encounter  that  gave  it  a  dreadful 
joy,  and  the  poised  quiet  of  her  own  manner 
felt  like  a  new  weapon  in  her  hand. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  lifted  a  reluctant  head,  his 
eyes  still  making  last  snatches  at  the  script  be- 
fore them.  "H'm?  What?"  He  was  so  many 
centuries  away  from  her  that  she  waited  for  his 
return  before  repeating  the  question. 

"What  am  I  for?" 

He  blinked  at  her  in  puzzled  silence.  "I  don't 
believe  the  philosophers  have  ever  decided  that," 


THE  STARLING  25 

he  said  at  last.    "I  can  refer  you  to  some  very 
searching  works  on  the  subject." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Sarah  politely ;  "but  all  my 
life  I  have  been  turned  over  to  books  for  every- 
thing. I  have  been  persistently  educated.  But 
what  for?  They  say  to  little  boys,  'What  are 
you  going  to  be  when  you  grow  up?'  but  they 
don't  put  the  idea  into  a  little  girl's  head,  so 
here  I  am,  done  with  lessons,  grown  up,  and  I 
don't  know  what  it  has  all  been  for." 

Mr.  Cawthorne's  look  was  mildly  startled. 
The  young  lines  of  the  face  before  him  set  him 
smiling  at  her  claim,  and  yet,  if  it  did  not  seem 
to  him  much  older,  it  was  undeniably  a  few  feet 
higher  up.  His  nod  assented  to  her  calling  her- 
self grown  if  she  wanted  to.  Perhaps  he  was 
also  admitting  that  she  looked  like  Somebody — 
not  just  another  pretty  girl,  but  a  soul  in  the 
making,  for  his  glance  lingered  on  the  shadowy 
face  under  the  dark  wings  of  heavy  hair.  Later, 
a  florid  newspaper  writer  was  to  describe 
Sarah's  face  as  perpetually  "lit  by  sunlight  com- 
ing through  live  oaks." 

"Well,  isn't  being  a  daughter  something?"  he 
asked.  "I  suppose  eventually  you  will  be  a  wife 
— God  help  you,"  he  added  with  the  glimmer  in 


26  THE  STARLING 

his  eyes  that  his  students  found  so  delightful. 
Sarah  hated  it.  It  always  seemed  to  threaten 
the  realm  of  things-as-they-might-be  where  she 
lived  her  rich  inner  life. 

"How  can  I  marry?  If  ever  I  do  meet  a  man, 
I  am  so  stupid  and  helpless.  I  am  really  very 
poor,  socially,  father.  And  I  don't  know  how 
to  make  friends."  The  secret  cry  that  woke  her 
every  morning  and  went  to  sleep  with  her  every 
night  came  out  in  casual  words:  "I  rather 
think  I  want  the  world  now.  Hasn't  the  time 
come?" 

Mr.  Cawthorne's  averted  glance  told  nothing. 
By  the  tapping  of  the  pen  between  his  fingers 
he  might  have  been  merely  bored.  "Nothing 
in  it,  Sairy,"  he  said  in  his  laziest  drawl.  "Take 
my  word — nothing  in  it." 

"For  you,  perhaps.  But,  you  know,  I  am  me. 
All  the  books  in  the  world  won't  make  me  over 
into  a  little  you."  She  said  that  as  though  she 
were  not  sorry,  but  he  only  smiled  in  his  pointed 
beard.  "If  I  am  to  live  on  here,  I  want  a  home 
that  is  not  dead  and  buried.  I  want  to  learn  to 
make  friends.  Father,  I  am  ashamed  of  being 
so  solitary."  She  made  the  confession  with 
that  new  smile  she  had  been  learning.  "The 


THE  STARLING  27 

other  girls  go  in  twos  and  threes,  but  I  am  al- 
ways by  myself,  and  it  is  mortifying.  It  looks 
as  if  there  were  something  wrong  with  me. 
Can't  you  see  my  side  of  it?" 

He  gave  her  an  odd  glance — not  hostile,  and 
not  in  the  least  apprehensive.  It  had  even  a 
humorous  commiseration,  such  as  a  shepherd 
might  feel  for  a  rebellious  lamb. 

"You  wouldn't  d-d-disturb  a  poor  c-cripple, 
would  you  ?"  he  asked.  His  slow  speech  always 
developed  a  stammer  when  he  was  evading 
righteous  demands.  Sarah  flung  a  swift  warn- 
ing at  herself :  "Stay  grown  up !  Stay  grown 
up !  If  you  get  angry,  I'll  kill  you !" 

"Yes,  I  would;  once  in  a  while,"  she  said 
cheerfully.  "Everybody  has  to  compromise, 
father.  We  give  in  and  give  in  to  you.  Don't 
you  want  to  do  your  share  of  it?" 

"N-n-no ;  I  can't  say  that  I  care  to."  He  was 
as  immovable  as  the  hedge.  "You  see,  I'm  do- 
ing something,"  he  consented  to  explain. 

She  seized  on  that.  "But  I  want  to  do  some- 
thing. And  other  girls'  fathers — " 

"Now  see  here,  Sarah ;"  his  tone  *vas  all  pa- 
tient indulgence;  "some  day,  in  the  course  of 
human  events,  this  place  will  be  yours,  and  you 


28  THE  STARLING 

can  celebrate  my  passing  with  a  series  of  the 
grandest  old  b-b-blow-outs  ever  held.  You  can 
have  a  lot  of  fun  planning  it.  You  wait  for 
that." 

Their  eyes  locked,  his  narrowed  with  amuse- 
ment, seemingly  kindly,  hers  suddenly  wide  with 
an  anger  that  would  not  be  kept  down. 

"What  a  dreadful  thing  to  say!"  It  was  a 
new  tone  from  her  to  him,  or  from  any  one  to 
him,  and,  after  the  impetuous  words  were 
spoken,  Sarah  felt  herself  as  outrageous  as  if 
she  had  flung  a  stone.  She  sent  a  frankly 
scared  look  after  it,  but,  fortunately,  her  fath- 
er's eyes  had  gone  back  to  his  manuscript. 

"I  always  say  dreadful  things,"  he  drawled. 
"It's  my  long  suit." 

Finding  herself  miraculously  not  annihilated, 
Sarah  swiftly  steadied  herself  on  the  new  alti- 
tude to  which  she  had  been  swept.  "It  is  not 
fair  to  say  them  about  death,"  she  said  gravely. 

He  looked  up  at  that.  "There's  a  lot  of  non- 
sense talked  about  Sorrow  and  Loss,"  he  ex- 
plained with  his  most  mellow  smile.  "We  pull 
down  the  blinds  and  all  that,  but,  take  my  word 
for  it,  Sairy,  half  the  time  the  bereaved  are 
rather  pleased  than  otherwise.  People  are  a 


THE  STARLING  29 

good  deal  of  trouble.  It's  a  relief  to  be  rid  of 
them." 

Sarah  hated  that  with  a  hot  hatred  that  would 
not  be  denied.  "Then  why  not  live  so  as  to  leave 
them  sorry?"  she  burst  out.  "You  have  only  to 
care  a  little  about  their  happiness." 

Mr.  Cawthorne  looked  as  if  patience  might 
have  its  limits.  "Get  thee  to  a  nunnery/'  he  said 
wearily.  "I  don't  know  what  you  want,  but 
you  are  spoiling  a  morning's  work." 

Her  anger  had  given  her  a  new  strength.  "I 
want  freedom !  I  want  to  ask  people  here  and 
not  feel  as  if  I  had  broken  the  ten  command- 
ments. I  showed  a  girl  the  garden  the  other 
day,  and  the  whole  time  I  felt  guilty — as  if  I 
might  be  caught.  Father,  that  is  no  way  for  a 
grown  girl  to  live !" 

Mr.  Cawthorne  was  no  longer  humorous.  "It 
would  be  hard  to  move  at  my  time  of  life,  but 
if  there  has  to  be  female  gabbling  about  the 
place,  one  of  us  has  got  to,"  he  said  curtly. 
"And  now  if  you  please,  Sarah — " 

"Oh,  if  it  weren't  for  mother  I  would  go  to- 
morrow!" she  said  on  a  deep  note  that  her 
voice  had  never  before  reached.  He  let  her 
leave  the  room  without  comment. 


30  THE  STARLING 

The  dream  of  years  had  crashed  down.  Sarah 
had  believed  that  when  she  should  be  brave 
enough  to  set  the  truth  before  her  father  he 
would  have  to  recognize  it.  She  had  foreseen 
him  as  touched,  a  little  ashamed,  even.  A  new 
intimacy  was  to  have  sprung  out  of  the  en- 
counter. Enchanting  scenes,  playful,  affection- 
ate, had  spun  themselves  like  bright  webs  about 
their  future  together.  The  glow  of  their  home 
life  would  stretch  out  beyond  the  hedge  and  the 
world  would  pour  in  like  a  warm  tide.  Life 
and  love  and  people!  But  now  she  had  shown 
him  the  other  side,  and  he  had  not  cared,  and 
nothing  ever  came  true. 

She  hid  her  failure  in  the  depths  of  the  gar- 
den. The  big  wind,  streaming  in  from  the  ocean, 
made  the  hedge,  for  once,  of  some  use,  and  she 
paced  up  and  down  in  its  shelter  without  a  rag 
of  dream-glamour  to  shield  her  soul  from  the 
bleak  wrind  of  reality,  or  a  trace  of  her  newly 
learned  smile.  Her  face  would  have  suggested 
only  midnight  seen  through  cypress  boughs  to 
her  future  admirer,  if  he  had  stood  at  the  gap 
in  the  hedge. 

Some  one  did  stand  there,  holding  on  his  hat, 
a  long  figure,  humorously  thin  in  the  betraying 


THE  STARLING  31 

wind.  A  brown  mustache  spread  out  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  fatten  the  gaunt  face,  but  the 
little  deep-set  eyes  smiled  as  though  they  rec- 
ognized the  futility  of  trying  to  make  anything 
appear  other  than  what  it  was.  Seeing  Sarah, 
he  stepped  gratefully  out  of  the  gale  into  the 
shelter  of  the  green  wall. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — is  this  Mr.  Cawthorne's 
place?"  His  voice  had  a  pleasantly  trained  qual- 
ity, as  though  he  spoke  other  languages  as 
easily  as  his  own,  and  Sarah,  assenting,  felt  a 
shock  of  disappointment  when  he  added,  "I  am 
from  the  Recorder."  He  saw  her  secret  with- 
drawal— there  was  nothing  that  he  would  not 
see,  and  very  little  that  would  not  set  him  smil- 
ing if  it  came  from  a  girl  in  a  sheltered  garden. 
Some  sense  of  a  big  outside  world,  a  world 
where  trouble  was  a  thing  of  blood  and  shame, 
and  dreams  were  about  as  important  as  hair  rib- 
bons, touched  Sarah,  threatening  her  righteous 
grievance.  She  did  not  resent  his  amusement. 
Her  soul  recognized  its  superior,  and  gravely 
saluted. 

"Father  doesn't  often  see  newspaper  men,"  she 
said  with  a  softening  hesitation.  "You  can  try ; 
but  he  hates  to  be  interrupted  in  the  morning." 


32  THE  STARLING 

His  glance  took  in  the  quiet  old  house  and  the 
peaceful  garden.  "I  don't  wonder,"  he  said  on 
a  long  breath  that  told  much.  "I  seem  to  have 
blundered  into  Heaven." 

"Heaven !"  It  was  the  story  of  Sarah's  life  in 
one  word.  She  had  not  meant  to  tell  it  to  a 
stranger ;  but  he  was  not  like  any  stranger  who 
had  ever  crossed  her  path,  and  her  sense  of  in- 
jury was  still  perilously  hot. 

"Ah,  of  course ;  you  want  to  get  out,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  His  ease  with  her  was  like  that 
of  other  girls'  fathers,  kindly  and  pleasant,  yet 
sufficiently  deferential  to  make  her  feel  safe 
with  him.  She  suddenly  knew  that  he  was  the 
nicest  man  she  had  ever  met.  He  did  not  dazzle 
her  and  take  away  her  breath,  as  Robert  Russell, 
Jr.,  did.  He  was  more  like  an  inspired  young 
uncle.  When  he  repeated,  "You  want  to  get 
out?"  it  was  entirely  natural  to  answer  with 
grave  candor. 

"Yes.  But  I  would  rather  cut  down  the  hedge 
and  let  the  world  in." 

"Cut  down  the  hedge !"  He  shook  his  head  as 
though  he  could  have  cried  over  her.  "Oh, 
please  promise  that  you  will  never  do  that !" 

In  truth,  it  had  never  before  occurred  to  her 


"My  father  doesn't  often  see  newspaper  men,"  she  said. 


THE  STARLING  33 

as  an  actual  possibility.  She  measured  her  old 
enemy  up  and  down  with  an  exultant  thrill. 

"It  would  burn  wonderfully,"  she  said  with  a 
little  reserved  smile. 

"Oh,  horrible!  What  can  I  do  to  stop  you?" 
His  distress  was  no  less  genuine  because  it 
laughed.  "Will  you  promise  me  that  you  won't 
do  it  before  your  thirtieth  birthday?"  Though 
his  words  made  a  direct  appeal,  his  voice  kept  a 
third-personal  deference,  as  though  he  said, 
"Will  Mademoiselle  promise  me?"  It  made  one 
feel  deliciously  safe  and  free. 

"But  after  thirty  it  would  not  matter,"  said 
Sarah.  "I  shan't  want  things  then  as  I  do  now." 

His  look  was  almost  affectionate.  "Well,  then, 
will  you  promise  to  send  me  word  before  you  do 
it,  and  let  me  come  and  have  a  talk  with  you  ?" 

She  had  a  secret  thought — that  it  would  be 
very  nice  to  see  him  again  on  any  pretext — and 
it  brought  the  sudden  shine  to  her  eyes. 

"You  can't  change  me,"  she  said  conscien- 
tiously, tflbut  I  will  tell  you." 

"Good."  He  took  out  a  card  with  an  address 
in  the  corner.  "That  will  always  find  me.  And 
I  would  come  from  Timbuctoo  to  save  this  last 
quiet  spot  in  the  eternal  boiler  factory."  He 


34  THE  STARLING 

shook  her  hand,  as  though  he  were  going  on  to 
the  house,  but  after  a  couple  of  steps  he  came 
back  to  look  down  on  her  over  folded  arms. 
"Suppose,"  he  began,  "that  you  wanted  to  do 
just  one  thing  in  life,  wanted  it  so  much  that 
you  would  sacrifice  everything  else  so  as  to  do 
it.  And  then  suppose,  in  your  precious  free 
hours,  when  everything  depended  on  quiet  and 
concentration,  ladies  next  door  were  inspired  to 
do  their  vocal  exercises,  and  babies  did  theirs, 
and  people  below  moved  out  and  above  moved  in, 
and  fire  engines  stopped  across  the  street,  and 
the  cable  car  ran  into  a  milk  wagon,  and  the 
telephone  roared — well,  do  you  see  my  point?" 
Sarah  could  scarcely  wait  for  him  to  finish. 
For  once  the  inner  hedge  was  down.  "And  sup- 
pose you  were  all  full  of  beautiful  things  you 
could  say  to  people,  but  you  had  grown  up  in 
prison,  and  the  wall  was  always  there  between 
you  and  the  party,  and  you  never  belonged,  and 
you  were  nearly  dead  of  loneliness — suppose  you 
dreamed  out  the  most  wonderful  meetings,  and 
yet  always  found  yourself  helpless  and  stupid 
and  walled  in — "  Her  breath  gave  out,  but  her 
vivid  shadowy  face — sunlit  through  live  oaks — 
told  more  than  words. 


THE  STARLING  35 

"In  that  case,"  he  said  slowly,  like  one  feeling 
his  way,  "I  would  write  out  my  beautiful 
dreams  and  mail  them  through  the  hedge.  Aha!" 
he  added  as  the  color  rushed  to  her  forehead. 

"But  I  never  mail  them,"  she  stammered. 

"Why  not?"  He  evidently  would  not  have 
considered  it  crazy  presumption,  and  a  new 
thrill  shot  through  all  her  being. 

"Oh,  they  are  not  good  enough !" 

"Probably  not,  as  yet ;  but  mailing  them — say, 
to  me — might  help  them  to  become  so.  I'm  a 
grand  critic;"  he  was  suddenly  a  little  boy- 
ish. "I  could  help  you,  I  know.  Will  you  let  me 
see  something  you  have  written?" 

He  could  not  know  how  all  her  faculties  were 
stampeded  by  the  mad,  glorious  idea.  People 
were  always  to  misunderstand  her  shyness  be- 
cause she  could  look  so  composed.  After  the  first 
flushed  moment,  she  had  the  turmoil  well  hidden. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  and  he  was 
reminded  to  look  at  his  watch. 

"I  think  I  know  where  your  father  would 
stand  on  the  subject  of  vocational  education,"  he 
explained,  "but  it  is  my  duty  to  ask  him.  Please 
don't  forget  that  you  have  made  me  a  promise 
about  the  hedge."  And  then  the  nicest  man  in 


36  THE  STARLING 

the  whole  world  had  left  her,  and  was  being 
admitted  at  the  front  door.  Perhaps  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne's  work  was  not  going  so  smoothly  as 
usual,  for  it  was  half  an  hour  before  the  nicest 
man  came  out  again.  He  was  making  notes  in  a 
little  book  as  he  went  down  the  drive,  and  he 
did  not  remember  that  there  was  any  one  to 
glance  about  for. 

In  a  normal  home  a  man  like  that  would  be 
asked  to  come  again.  He  would  be  made  so  wel- 
come that  he  would  become  a  part  of  the  beauti- 
ful family  life,  instead  of  instantly  going  out  of 
it  forever.  Mr.  Christopher  Saxe,  University 
Club:  there  he  was,  easily  within  reach,  but 
they  would  never  see  him  again.  Desolate  with 
a  new  kind  of  loneliness,  Sarah  went  in  search 
of  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  sat  on  the  sewing-room  floor 
in  a  happy  confusion  of  colored  remnants,  which 
she  was  tearing  into  strips  for  a  rag  rug.  She 
was  always  falling  on  some  new  industry  with 
a  reckless  joy  that  presently  put  her  to  bed; 
where  the  craze  abruptly  died.  There  was  a 
closet  full  of  unfinished  products  behind  her, 
but  her  eyes  were  shining  like'  Sarah's  over  her 
varied  shades  of  blue. 


THE  STARLING  37 

"The  darkest  will  be  in  the  center,  darling," 
she  began  at  once.  "I  couldn't  get  the  real  mid- 
night blue  that  I  wanted.  Do  you  think  I'd  bet- 
ter have  a  piece  dyed?  Or  will  this  do?" 

Sarah  looked  unseeingly  at  the  piece  held  up. 
"Mother,"  she  began,  "when  you  used  to  ask 
people  here — whether  father  liked  it  or  not — 
what  happened?  What  did  he  do?" 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  considered,  soberly  at  first, 
then  with  her  light  ringing  laugh.  "Oh,  dar- 
ling, he  was  so  bad !  I  really  should  have  liked 
to  slap  his  hands.  Sometimes  he  was  just  un- 
happy and  restless — kept  sighing  and  twisting 
in  his  chair,  or  getting  up  and  wandering  mis- 
erably around — he'd  nearly  make  me  cry.  And 
again  he'd  be  wicked,  and  lead  people  on  to  say 
silly  things  and  contradict  themselves — for  you 
know,  Bunny,  the  dearest,  sweetest  people  aren't 
always  so  very  clever  in  their  minds.  And 
sometimes  he'd  get  an  awfully  stiff  subject  and 
harangue — oh,  talk  and  talk  till  every  one  was 
nearly  dead !  Just  badness,  dear.  He  knew  bet- 
ter. And  then  afterward  I'd  cry  and  make  a 
fuss,  but  it  never  changed  him.  You  can't." 

Another  moment  of  musing  ended  in  another 
laugh.  "He  was  always  saying  in  those  days 


38  THE  STARLING 

that  people  must  have  the  courage  of  their  opin- 
ions, but  when  they  did  he  nearly  murdered 
them.  I  never  dared  ask  any  one  who  would 
fight  back.  I  think  he  really  meant  that  they 
must  have  the  courage  of  his  opinions !  But,  of 
course,  he  is  a  very  brilliant  and  distinguished 
scholar,  Bunny,  and  we  must  never  forget  that," 
she  added  in  a  belated  attempt  to  sound  like  a 
parent. 

Bunny  kissed  her,  but  went  away  without 
replying.  The  ache  in  her  heart  was  not  all  for 
herself;  some  of  it  was  for  her  gay  little 
mother,  breaking  herself  against  that  stone 
wall.  All  her  grace  of  spirit,  her  queer  charm, 
had  been  powerless;  how  could  Sarah  hope  to 
succeed?  Sarah's  charms  were  as  potent  in  se- 
cret, but  they  never  came  out  before  people. 
And  if  she  went  forth  into  the  world  until  she 
had  learned  its  ways,  who  would  open  drawers 
and  boxes  for  her  mother,  lest  some  little  crea- 
ture should  lurk  inside,  ready  to  spring,  or  grope 
behind  the  skirts  in  the  closet  for  the  nightly 
burglar?  Sarah  saw  an  unprotected  mother  go- 
ing to  bed  in  a  blaze  of  gas,. her  hand  over  her 
heart  at  every  chance  sound,  eluding  a  snatch  at 
her  ankles  from  every  shadow,  perhaps  at  last 


THE  STARLING  39 

encountering  real  peril  up  there  alone — the 
stealthy  movement,  the  flash  of  light,  the  cold 
touch  of  steel — Ah-h-h! 

Sarah  plunged  her  face  in  a  sofa  cushion  to 
stifle  the  scream  in  which  her  vision  had  ended. 
For  the  moment  she  had  actually  been  her 
mother,  tense  and  white  and  rigid,  and  she  lay 
exhausted,  getting  back  her  breath.  She  did  not 
laugh  at  herself.  Her  inner  life  was  always 
like  that,  a  series  of  dramas,  and  she  accepted  it 
as  everybody's  secret.  Spent  with  emotion,  she 
lay  very  quiet,  heavy  eyes  fixed  on  space,  while 
the  healing  comfort  gathered  from  its  unknown 
source.  She  knew  now  what  was  coming — the 
living  current  that  made  all  things  whole  and 
new.  When  its  delicious  glow  had  reached  her 
heart  and  was  tingling  in  her  arm,  she  crouched 
over  note-book  and  pencil  and  began  to  write. 

It  was  no  longer  poetry,  but  scenes,  abrupt 
fragments  without  beginning  or  ending.  To-day 
it  was  all  of  a  father  and  daughter  as  they 
would  have  been  if  Sarah  had  made  the  world. 
There  was  a  note-book  full  of  such  scenes,  and 
when  the  flow  had  ceased,  Sarah  turned  back 
to  the  others,  idly  at  first,  then  with  an  idea 
leaping  in  her  blood.  They  were  all  of  the 


40  THE  STARLING 

same  father  and  daughter,  they  glowed  with 
affection  and  laughter  and  warm  tears  that 
had  always  a  happy  ending ;  why  not  make  them 
into  a  book?  Christopher  Saxe  had  told  her 
that  she  could!  The  iridescent  webs  that  had 
spun  themselves  in  inspired  hours  could  be 
gathered  up  like  tapestries  and  turned  to  beau- 
tiful use.  A  story  could  be  woven  in,  and  a 
lover,  but  it  should  be  a  father-and-daughter 
book,  the  gayest,  kindest  little  book  in  the  whole 
world.  It  came  into  being,  great  tracts  at  a 
time,  so  fast  that  she  could  only  take  lightning 
notes.  When  at  last  the  inspiration  died  down, 
she  brooded  over  what  she  had  conceived  in 
blank  empty  peace.  A  merciful  year  had 
elapsed  since  the  hurt  of  the  last  act. 


m 


MR.  CAWTHORNE  must  have  thought 
that  he  had  dealt  effectually  with  his 
daughter,  for  she  gave  him  no  more  trouble  for 
months  afterward.  Sarah,  in  truth,  had  found 
an  open  door  to  life  and  love  and  people,  a  door 
no  bigger  than  the  page  of  a  blank  book,  with  a 
pencil  for  the  key.  The  characters  of  her  grow- 
ing story  were  as  real  to  her  as  Ethel  Alice  had 
been  to  her  childhood.  Life,  when  it  demanded 
her  presence,  felt  thin  and  watery  and  chilly 
beside  the  mellow  richness  of  her  secret  world, 
and  she  escaped  back  at  the  first  chance.  The 
protagonist,  Richard  Dockery,  brilliant,  hand- 
some, easily  powerful,  most  delicious  of  young- 
hearted  fathers,  was  taken  from  a  living  model ; 
but  Robert  Russell,  Jr.'s,  mother  never  recog- 
nized him,  though  she  was  to  read  Dickery 
Dock  more  than  once.  The  heroine,  Virginia, 
was  Ethel  Alice  herself.  Sarah's  generous 
heart  had  always  given  her  the  first  bite  and 
the  best  jokes  and  the  loveliest  poppy-shows, 
Sarah's  mother  heard  every  individual  page 
of  the  book  from  four  to  ten  times,  and  kept 
41 


42  THE  STARLING 

Sarah's  courage  alive  by  her  amazed  enthusi- 
asm. Of  course,  in  time,  Mr.  Cawthorne  knew 
about  it,  but  he  gave  no  sign,  except  to  look 
amused  when  Sarah  came  to  the  table  with 
burning  cheeks  and  heavy  eyes.  On  the  day 
when  the  package  was  returned  from  the  type- 
writer, two  hundred  and  sixty  fair  pages,  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  was  in  bed,  recovering  from  an  at- 
tack of  book-binding,  but  she  read  it  all 
through  again. 

"And  now  we  will  send  it  off  to  a  publisher/' 
she  said,  looking  up  at  her  genius  with  touched 
and  loving  eyes. 

Sarah  made  an  excuse  to  carry  away  the 
manuscript.  She  had  a  sickening  duty  to  per- 
form first :  her  father  must  see  the  book.  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  had  long  ago  declared  that  he  need 
not — "For  he  never  likes  anything,  Bunny,  so 
what  is  the  use !"  But  Sarah  had  quietly  made 
her  own  decision.  Perhaps,  under  the  formal- 
ity of  treating  her  father  properly,  there  lay 
a  hope  that  Mr.  Cawthorne  might  not  find  it 
so  very  bad,  for  her  reluctance  was  shot 
through  with  excited  thrills  as  she  pushed  open 
the  library  door. 

Mr.    Cawthorne   was   leaning   back   in   his 


THE  STARLING  43 

chair,  idle  for  once,  perhaps  dozing.  For  a 
startling  moment  he  looked  old — old  and  lonely ; 
but  it  must  have  been  a  trick  of  the  light,  for 
when  his  eyes  opened  he  was  the  same  imper- 
turbable little  gray  man,  of  no  particular  age, 
smiling  in  his  pointed  beard  as  he  saw  the 
manuscript. 

"Is  that  the  magnum  opus?"  he  asked,  put- 
ting out  his  hand  for  it. 

She  laid  it  before  him  feeling  like  a  mother 
who  submits  her  child  to  inexorable  law. 

"Of  course,  it  isn't  very  good;"  she  spoke 
with  brave  lightness.  "But  I  thought  you  ought 
to  read  it."  Then,  seeing  his  keen  glance  close 
down  on  her  hapless  and  innocent  text,  she  re- 
treated, in  terror  of  his  smile. 

It  was  an  unspeakable  afternoon.  She  could 
not  tell  her  mother  what  was  going  on,  for  sus- 
pense made  Mrs.  Cawthorne  ill,  so,  after  a 
stumbling  attempt  to  read  aloud,  Sarah  carried 
her  trembling  spirit  into  the  autumn  splendor 
of  the  garden.  Cutting  dead  flowers  and  tying 
up  chrysanthemums  helped  her  to  work  off  the 
hours,  but  could  not  ease  the  sick  heaviness  in 
her  breast  or  quiet  the  shaking  of  her  limbs. 
Every  sound  that  might  mean  the  opening  of 


44  THE  STARLING 

the  library  door  came  like  the  rattle  of  tum- 
brils at  prison  windows.  Yet  always,  under- 
neath, ran  that  terrible  thrill  of  expectancy: 
he  might  think  it  good !  She  did  not  dare  leave 
the  grounds  lest  she  miss  the  first  impulsive 
moment;  but  the  afternoon  dragged  on  and  he 
did  not  emerge. 

Her  dream-power  at  last  came  to  help  her 
through.  A  lovely  scene  of  a  proud  astonished 
father  taking  a  newly  discovered  daughter  to 
his  heart,  brought  relaxing  tears  to  her  eyes 
as  she  prepared  for  the  inevitable  meeting  at 
dinner.  It  was  so  warmly  real  that  for  a  mo- 
ment she  was  only  glad  when  her  father  came 
into  the  dining-room.  Then  she  met  his  quiz- 
zical glance,  and  her  heart  shrank  from  him. 

"Well,  Sarah,  you  must  have  had  a  lot  of 
fun  doing  that,"  he  said,  laying  the  manuscript 
beside  her  plate.  "I  have  corrected  the  spelling 
in  a  few  places,  but  I  suppose  that  was  the  type- 
writer. I  don't  believe  a  child  of  mine  would 
spell  develop  with  a  final  *e/  Is  your  mother 
coming  down?" 

"No,"  said  Sarah  faintly. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  shook  out  the  evening  paper 
and  folded  it  to  dinner-table  size. 


THE  STARLING  45 

"You  have  been  well  grounded  in  rhetoric," 
he  said,  his  eyes  on  the  head-lines.  "I  did  not 
suppose  you  could  express  yourself  with  so 
much  variety.  The  style  is  very  fair,  for  a  be- 
ginner." And,  being  served,  he  settled  down 
to  read. 

Sarah  waited  until  she  could  steady  her 
voice.  Then,  "What  publisher  would  you  try?" 
she  asked. 

"Publisher?"  That  was  a  new  idea,  and  he 
considered  it  dubiously.  "Oh,  I  don't  believe  I 
would  publish,"  he  concluded. 

The  worst  had  happened,  and  it  brought  the 
courage  of  despair. 

"Then  you  don't  think  it  is  at  all  good?" 

His  head-shake  was  tempered  by  other  con- 
siderations. "You  couldn't  call  it  literature. 
No,  it  isn't  good — I  suppose — fundamentally — 
it's  trash.  But  it  is  a  pleasant  way  to  occupy 
yourself.  And  if  you  keep  on,  you  may  some 
day  do  something — when  you  know  more  about 
life." 

Know  more  about  life !  The  monstrous  irony 
of  that  from  him,  who  had  planted  and  nursed 
the  hedge,  would  have  enraged  her  if  she  had 
not  been  so  crushed  with  disappointment.  For 


46  THE  STARLING 

her  father  knew;  no  calling  him  hot  names 
could  blur  the  fact  that  he  knew  about  litera- 
ture. Her  book  fundamentally  was  trash. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  ate  a  placid  dinner  without  a 
suspicion  of  what  he  had  done.  Criticizing  the 
efforts  of  the  young  was  all  in  the  day's  work ; 
he  dealt  with  the  product,  not  with  the  pro- 
ducer. If  he  noticed  anything,  it  was  that  he 
was  allowed  to  read  his  paper  in  peace.  Sarah's 
pride  kept  her  erect  and  dry-eyed;  there  was 
even  a  dreary  satisfaction  in  perfecting  her 
outer  composure,  denying  him  a  glimpse  of 
her  hurt  to  smile  at.  Mr.  Cawthorne  at  last 
finished  his  coffee  and  gave  her  the  paper,  tap- 
ping the  signed  article  he  had  been  reading. 

"There  is  some  plain  sense  on  the  Japanese 
bogy,"  he  said.  "I  would  read  it  if  I  were 
you.  The  man  is  remarkably  sound  and  wise 
and  right.  He  thinks  just  as  I  do."  And  he 
limped  serenely  back  to  his  library.  When  the 
door  had  quite  closed,  Sarah  gave  the  paper  a 
violent  twist  and  threw  it  into  the  fireplace; 
but  the  two  main  impulses  of  her  being,  to  be 
fair  and  to  be  courteous,  still  kept  a  precarious 
dominance. 

"It  is  not  logical  to  hate  a  person  because 


THE  STARLING  47 

he  does  not  admire  your  work,"  she  said,  very 
quietly  and  distinctly.  "In  fact,  it  is  ridicu- 
lous. And  it  isn't  grown  up.  He  is  quite  right 
to  call  my  book  trash  if  that  is  the  truth ;  and 
if  in  return  I  were  to  call  him" —  suddenly  her 
eyes  blazed  and  her  jaw  set — "a  horrid  old  pig 
— well,  it  wouldn't  change  the  situation,"  she 
concluded  with  restored  politeness,  rising  and 
gathering  up  the  manuscript. 

Telling  her  mother  was  not  to  be  thought  of 
that  night.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  would  not  make 
the  slightest  attempt  to  be  cool  and  grown  up 
about  it,  and  she  would  lose  her  night's  sleep. 
Sarah  had  long  ago  learned  to  hide  all  calami- 
ties till  morning.  Then  she  told  them  lightly, 
as  though  they  were  only  good  news  a  little 
inverted.  Already  her  protective  love  was 
shaping  a  cheerful  announcement  of  her  fa- 
ther's verdict  as  she  slipped  past  her  mother's 
door,  carrying  the  poor  dead  thing  to  the  attic, 
where  it  might  have  decent  burial  in  her  old 
camphor-wood  chest. 

Her  last  doll  was  there,  and  her  first  fan,  and 
a  rather  meager  collection  of  girlhood  treas- 
ures. She  had  never  lacked  the  things  that 
money  buys;  but  treasures  are  made  out  of  a 


48  THE  STARLING 

girl's  burning  intimacies  or  the  ecstatic  jokes 
of  fellowship.  There  was  a  pencil  that  had 
been  Robert  Russell,  Jr.'s,  but  her  possession 
of  it  had  no  Robert-to-Sarah  flavor;  he  had 
merely  lent  it  to  her  at  a  tennis  tournament 
and  forgotten  to  come  back  for  it.  Sarah  placed 
the  candle  she  had  brought  on  an  old  bureau, 
and,  sitting  on  a  corner  of  the  chest,  dug  out  a 
grave  at  the  very  bottom  for  her  manuscript — 
under  the  other  trash.  Her  mother  would  not 
have  come  alone  to  the  big,  shadowy,  unfinished 
place  even  by  broad  daylight,  but  Sarah  had 
shielded  her  for  too  long  to  have  any  little  fears 
of  her  own,  and  the  ghostly  old  cave,  tenanted 
by  cast  off  sewing-machines  and  broken  cribs 
and  ugly  Victorian  furniture,  gradually  took 
the  outrageousness  from  the  blow  that  had  been 
dealt  her.  It  seemed  to  say  that  all  bright  new 
things  ended  in  trash.  That  was  the  common 
lot. 

"And  now  what?  What  is  left?  What  can 
I  go  on  to?"  she  demanded,  looking  about  her 
like  one  newly  wakened  in  a  bleak  place.  The 
rich  companionship  of  the  past  months  was 
slain.  Richard  Dockery  and  Virginia,  his 
daughter,  had  been  more  real  than  any  mere 


THE  STARLING  49 

flesh-and-blood  relatives,  but  now  a  single  word 
had  knocked  the  breath  of  life  out  of  them,  and 
she  was  as  far  away  as  ever  from  life  and  love 
and  people.  People!  Sitting  there  like  a 
princess  locked  in  a  tower,  she  seemed  to  see 
them  streaming  past  the  hedge,  girls  happily 
together  and  youths  hurrying  after  them,  lov- 
ers and  bridal  couples  arm  in  arm,  young  fa- 
thers and  mothers  smiling  at  each  other  over 
what  they  held,  mature  men  and  women  guid- 
ing their  communities  and  knowing  some  one 
to  speak  to  on  every  corner,  kindly  and  tran- 
quil grandparents,  and  everywhere,  like  daisies 
in  the  grass,  the  darling  babies;  all  belonging 
together  in  a  glorious  human  chain  woven 
round  the  earth. 

"Oh,  let  me  out,  let  me  out!"  she  called  to 
them.  The  longing  swelled,  broke  and  re- 
treated, leaving  her  drenched  with  a  sadness  as 
fragrant  as  wet  violets,  as  resonant  as  violins. 
Sarah's  imagination  was  like  the  retinue  of 
royalty,  which,  even  for  a  single  night's  stop, 
unrolls  rugs  and  hangs  tapestries ;  it  never  left 
her  long  in  a  bare  room.  And  as  the  beauty 
returned  to  her  stripped  world,  her  ancient 
comfort  began  to  stir  warmly  at  her  sides  and 


50  THE  STARLING 

to  flow  in  her  right  arm.  Her  fingers  closed  on 
Robert  Russell's  pencil ;  then  she  threw  it  down, 
breaking  herself  loose  from  the  spell. 

"What  is  the  use  of  writing  if  it  is  only  trash 
when  it  is  done?"  she  asked  aloud.  The  empty 
days  unrolled  before  her  in  a  long  gray  scroll, 
and  her  soul  fainted  before  them.  "I  really  can 
not  bear  it,"  she  said,  very  quietly,  even  po- 
litely. "I  am  sorry,  but  I  can  not.  This  is  the 
end.  I  am  going  out  into  the  world.  I  will 
come  back  to  mother  as  often  as  possible,  but 
I  won't  live  like  this  another  week.  I  will  get 
work — I'll  join  clubs — I  will  belong — " 

The  silence  of  the  old  house  was  split  by  a 
scream.  It  was  a  dreadful  scream,  mad,  ago- 
nized. No  heart  could  have  heard  it  without  a 
leap.  Sarah  sprang  to  her  feet,  but,  for  all  her 
quickness,  she  managed  to  close  the  chest  and 
blow  out  the  candle  as  she  flew. 

"I'm  coming,  dear,"  she  called.  "Don't  mind 
— I'm  coming!"  She  ran  down  the  stairs  just 
as  Nelly  came  hurrying  up,  but  neither  looked 
more  than  mildly  concerned  until  they  saw  what 
might  have  been  an  empty  dressing-gown  across 
the  sill  of  Sarah's  room.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  was 
inside  it,  unconscious. 


THE  STARLING  51 

She  was  so  long  in  reviving  and  then  so 
shaken  and  hysterical,  that  Sarah  sent  Nelly 
out  to  telephone  for  the  doctor.  Mr.  Cawthorne 
had  opened  the  library  door  and  stood  there 
awaiting  an  explanation,  but  Nelly  assured  him 
it  was  nothing.  (There  was  no  sense  in  dis- 
turbing him.) 

"The  poor  lady  saw  a  mouse,  most  likely,"  she 
apologized. 

"No;  I  should  say  a  rat  at  the  very  least," 
Mr.  Cawthorne  decided  with  cold  emphasis. 
"Or  perhaps  a  boa  constrictor.  The  mouse  cry 
is  less  resonant."  And  he  closed  his  door  again. 
It  was  very  evident  that  he  had  been  disturbed. 

Up-stairs,  Sarah  was  stroking  the  hands  that 
clutched  her  own  and  trying  to  find  out  what 
had  happened. 

"I'm  just  an  old  fool,  dear,"  her  mother 
sobbed.  "Perfect  idiot.  But,  you  see,  you 
weren't  down-stairs — Nelly  had  seen  you  come 
up;  and  I  looked  in  all  the  rooms  up  here,  but 
I  couldn't  find  you,  and  suddenly  I  was  in  a 
panic.  I  couldn't  stand  it,  not  finding  you.  I 
went  back  to  your  room,  and  as  I  opened  the 
door — I  told  you  I  was  an  utter  fool!  Oh,  I 
suppose  it  was  the  curtain  that  flew  out  of  the 


52  THE  STARLING 

window — "  She  cried  and  clung  and  tried  to 
laugh.  "Oh,  Bunny,  if  you  were  so  silly,  I'd 
put  you  to  bed  on  bread  and  water !" 

"You  can't  help  it,"  Sarah  argued  reason- 
ably. "You  are  made  like  that.  You  don't 
scream  half  as  often  as  you  would  like  to." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  grew  quieter  at  once;  her 
hot  grasp  relaxed.  "That's  true,  darling,"  she 
said,  brightening.  "I  put  a  beetle  out  myself 
yesterday — I  didn't  say  a  word  about  it  to  any 
one.  Oh,  I  know  I  ought  to  be  killed  for  it," 
she  added,  sighing.  "But  I  tiy,  Bunny,  I  try. 
Your  father  never  knows  how  hard  I  try.  Of 
course  he  heard.  I  dare  say  I've  made  his 
head  ache." 

"Not  so  badly  as  yours  is  aching,"  Sarah  said, 
passing  her  finger  tips  over  the  white  lined 
forehead  where  the  nerves  visibly  quivered  and 
throbbed.  The  eyes  below  looked  up  at  her 
with  a  gleam  of  amusement. 

"Such  a  wise,  steady  old  darling — I  might 
have  known  you  wouldn't  go  bounding  out  of  a 
window.  By  the  way,  where  were  you?" 

"In  the  attic."  Sarah  heard  wheels  below 
and  rose  relievedly  from  the  bed.  She  did  not 
want  to  be  questioned  about  her  errand.  Mrs. 


THE  STARLING  53 

Cawthorne,  however,  was  too  awed  by  her  cour- 
age to  seek  reasons. 

"The  attic!  To  think  that  I  should  have 
mothered  a  young  lion  like  you,"  she  murmured. 

"There's  Doctor  Russell,  dear,"  Sarah  ex- 
plained, going  to  .the  door.  "I  thought  he'd 
better — "  She  stopped  short,  for  the  step  on 
the  stairs  had  a  young  vigor,  and  she  was  look- 
ing down  on  a  smooth  blond  head. 

"My  father  was  out,  so  I  ran  over  to  see  if  1 
could  be  of  any  use,"  Robert,  Jr.,  explained  with 
the  deferential  gravity  of  a  very  new  practi- 
tioner. "You  know  I  am  with  him  now,"  he 
added,  thinking  she  needed  reassurance;  but 
Sarah's  stare  had  only  meant  that  his  coming 
was  too  good  to  be  true. 

Since  she  had  seen  him,  he  had  taken  on  eye- 
glasses and  a  more  responsible  deportment  as 
well  as  a  small  and  foreign  looking  chin  tuft, 
a  young  man's  compromise  between  his  need  of 
years  and  his  dislike  of  a  beard.  He  was  not 
unaware  of  his  very  good  looks,  but  he  evidently 
knew  himself  possessed  of  qualifications  so 
much  more  valuable  that  he  could  afford  to  for- 
get them.  To  a  critical  eye  he  had  an  air  of 
throwing  them  in  free. 


54  THE  STARLING 

To  Sarah  he  was  a  figure  of  dazzling  distinc- 
tion. She  had  once  seen  him  as  a  fairy-tale 
prince,  but  now  he  was  like  a  fine  and  wise 
young  king  going  about  the  business  of  his 
realm.  She  put  out  her  hand  with  the  sudden 
shine  in  her  eyes. 

"It  is  young  Doctor  Russell,  mother,"  she 
explained  over  her  shoulder.  (That  was  a  de- 
licious thing  to  call  him — "young  Doctor  Rus- 
sell.") 

Mrs.  Cawthorne,  very  flat,  brightened  all  over 
as  the  commanding  figure  drew  up  a  chair  be- 
side her. 

"Well,  perhaps  he  can  put  some  sense  into 
me.  His  father  never  could,"  she  said.  "I  had 
a  fright,  Doctor  Robert,  and  I  behaved  very 
badly;  but  I  don't  know  what  you  can  do 
about  it." 

"There  are  several  things  I  might  do  about 
it;"  he  spoke  with  a  largeness  that  suggested 
limitless  resource.  "That  is  what  we  phy- 
sicians are  for,  Mrs.  Cawthorne — to  make  you 
behave  better."  He  gave  her  a  disciplinary 
nod,  and  Sarah,  leaning  on  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
felt  a  thrilled  longing  to  have  the  discipline  in- 
clude her.  One  could  pretend  to  be  mutinous 


THE  STARLING  55 

for  the  joy  of  feeling  it  tighten.  "I  have  al- 
ways wanted  to  get  my  hands  on  you,"  he  added. 

"H'm !  Undermining  your  father's  business  ?" 

"I  have  no  wish  to  do  that,"  he  explained 
seriously.  "But  we  younger  men  have  new  the- 
ories about  nervous  disorders,  and  I  happen  to 
have  been  rather  successful  in  two  or  three 
cases.  Largely  luck,  I  suppose."  He  drew  up 
one  shoulder,  then  the  other,  very  faintly,  yet 
enough  to  give  Sarah  a  lightning  vision  of  a 
glorious  boy  standing  over  a  breathless  little 
girl  and  explaining  his  extraordinary  prowess 
in  social  affairs.  "We  modern  men  take  a 
broader  view  of  such  disorders.  We  often  have 
to  reorganize  a  patient's  whole  life,  and  to  treat 
her  family  quite  as  much  as  we  treat  her." 

"You  might  reorganize  me,  but  I  don't  advise 
you  to  try  it  on  my  family,"  Mrs.  Cawthorne 
said. 

"I  don't  know.  Sarah  looks  amenable  to  re- 
organization." He  had  always  called  her  Sarah 
on  their  rare  meetings — with  a  grave  air  of 
having  the  right  that  derives  from  a  childhood 
intimacy;  and  Sarah  had  said  "Robert"  back 
with  a  gay  tremble  in  her  heart.  It  was  thrill- 
ing to  call  any  one  so  assured  and  lordly  "Rob- 


56  THE  STARLING 

ert."  "I  think  I  could  organize  her."  He  looked 
into  her  shadowy  face  just  as  her  smile  came 
out ;  the  real  Sarah  was  at  the  gap  in  the  hedge, 
the  Sarah  that  endowed  the  world  with  such 
magic  and  beauty  that,  later,  it  was  to  have 
hours  when  it  almost  believed  her.  For  the 
moment  Robert  Russell,  Jr.,  saw  himself  as  she 
saw  him,  and  his  glance  came  back  again  and 
again  for  a  renewal  of  the  stimulating  endorse- 
ment. 

"Oh,  Sarah  was  born  polite.  You  can  do  any- 
thing with  people  who  are  born  polite;"  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  was  looking  gayer  and  younger 
every  minute ;  "but  I  am  afraid  my  husband — 
wasn't.  He  is  really  a  very  bad  old  man,"  shft 
added  cheerfully. 

"We'll  see  about  that."  His  nod  said  that  he 
would  attend  to  Mr.  Cawthorne  later,  but  ef- 
fectually. "Will  you  really  let  me  study  your 
case?  I  will  agree  to  make  it  all  right  with 
my  father." 

"Oh,  he  gave  me  up  long  ago.  He  comes  when 
I  frighten  my  family  into  sending  for  him,  but 
he  only  tells  me  funny  stories.  Do  study  me — 
I  should  adore  it."  Her  laugh  rang  out.  "But, 
I  warn  you,  I  will  never  have  a  doctor  when  I 


THE  STARLING  57 

am  very  ill,  for  then  I  can't  enjoy  him.    It  is 
too  bitter,  to  waste  a  nice  visit  like  that." 

His  father  would  have  found  that  amusing, 
but  Robert  took  it  as  food  for  serious  reflection. 

"Then  you  don't  see  many  visitors,"  he  ob- 
served, looking  into  her  face  with  a  concen- 
trated interest  that  did  her  visible  good. 

"Oh,  no  one  comes  past  the  hedge  unless  he 
is  paid  for  it !" 

He  asked  minute  questions  about  her  days 
and  occupations ;  nothing  was  too  trivial  to  in- 
terest him*  Her  flashes  of  humor  quite  passed 
him  by,  but  Sarah  decided  that  she  liked  him  all 
the  better  for  that:  it  seemed  to  add  to  his 
power.  He  could  scarcely  have  shown  a  qual- 
ity for  which  she  would  not  have  liked  him  the 
better  in  that  richly  pleasant  hour.  His  pres- 
ence was  momentous,  and  yet  they  were  so  cozy 
together  up  there,  the  three  of  them.  The  day's 
tragedy  had  grown  remote,  unimportant. 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  a  night's  sleep,  and 
then  we  will  go  into  things  more  thoroughly  to- 
morrow," he  said  as  he  rose.  "If  I  come  in 
rather  often" — his  eyes  rested  on  Sarah  for  a 
moment — "don't  think  I  am  running  up  a  tre- 
mendous bill.  I  do  this  for  my  satisfaction." 


58  THE  STARLING 

"Oh,  there  is  money  enough;  and  we  spend 
very  little  on  amusement,"  was  the  strange  an- 
swer. She  was  a  very  strange  little  lady  with 
her  gay  eyes  in  a  white  spent  face  and  her 
child's  laugh. 

Sarah  went  down-stairs  with  him,  lowering 
her  voice  as  they  neared  the  library  door,  which 
was  slightly  ajar.  She  would  have  hurried  him 
out,  but  Robert  planted  himself  on  the  hall  rug 
to  deliver  his  opinion. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  ought  to  do  for  your 
mother?"  he  began.  Sarah's  eyes  warned,  im- 
ploi*ed,  but  he  saw  only  daughterly  anxiety. 
"You  ought  to  cut  down  that  infernal  hedge," 
he  said  in  full  and  resonant  tones.  "It  has  been 
smothering  her  all  these  years.  It  will  smother 
you,  too,  if  you  don't  look  out."  He  took  her 
hand,  and  his  strength  seemed  to  flow  into  her. 
"You  get  it  cut  down — that's  my  advice." 

Dense  silence  behind  the  library  door. 

"Yes ;  I  think  it  is  bad  for  us  all,"  said  Sarah 
clearly.  "Good  night,  Robert.  Do  come  often. 
You  have  done  my  mother  good  already." 

She  saw  him  out  and  closed  the  door.  Then 
panic  seized  her  and  she  fled  up  the  stairs. 


IV 


FOR  a  long  time  one  of  Sarah's  daily  excite- 
ments— and  no  one  looking  on  at  her  shel- 
tered existence  could-  have  suspected  how  many 
excitements  it  concealed — had  been  to  search 
the  papers  for  the  names  of  Christopher  Saxe 
and  Robert  Russell,  Jr.  She  knew  that  Saxe's 
name  must  gloriously  emerge,  sooner  or  later, 
when  the  secret  work  to  which  he  had  been 
feeding  his  life  was  accomplished.  New  poetry, 
scientific  discoveries,  philosophy,  research — 
Sarah  looked  over  every  field,  and  then  with  a 
faint  sinking  ran  her  eye  down  the  death  lists. 
For  Robert  Russell,  Jr.,  she  had  turned  to  the 
social  notes,  with  a  side  glance  at  accidents  by 
land  and  water  craft,  and  had  occasionally 
found  him.  That  she  should  one  night  have 
found  him  on  her  stairs  would  have  been  be- 
yond even  her  power  to  dream. 

And  yet  it  had  come  true.  Sarah  had  gone 
out  into  the  hall  as  casually  as  if  it  were  Nelly 
who  was  mounting,  her  heart  secretly  heavy 
with  the  knowledge  that,  no  matter  what  bold 
resolutions  she  announced,  she  could  not  possi- 
59 


60  THE  STARLING 

bly  leave  home  and  her  poor  little  mother ;  and 
there,  coming  up  as  serenely  as  though  it  were 
an  every-day  business,  vigorous,  distinguished, 
grave  with  fine  responsibility,  was — Robert. 
That  night  Sarah  lived  the  moment  over  and 
over,  always  with  the  same  delicious  pause  and 
then  the  leap  of  amazed  joy.  The  hour  that  had 
followed,  the  mad  daring  of  that  last  moment  in 
the  hall,  were  good  dream  stuff,  too,  and  could 
be  relived  almost  as  often.  Richard  Dockery 
and  Virginia,  his  daughter,  beloved  companions 
of  many  months,  had  been  ruthlessly  slain,  the 
magic  carpet  that  she  had  spent  years  in  weav- 
ing to  carry  her  over  the  hedge  had  been  re- 
duced to  a  little  bundle  of  trash;  but  Sarah, 
waking  late  the  next  morning,  saw  only  the 
drama  of  the  coming  day.  When  she  went  to 
the  window,  she  did  not  look  off  to  the  dark 
mass  of  the  city,  spread  along  its  hills  beyond 
the  far  glimmer  of  the  bay,  but  down  into  the 
garden,  as  though  its  sunny  borders  held  happi- 
ness enough. 

Autumn  rains  had  refreshed  the  earth,  rested 
by  the  long  summer  drought,  and  green  was 
bursting  up  everywhere,  as  if  a  mature  and 
vigorous  second  spring  were  at  hand.  Frost 


THE  STARLING  61 

had  not  yet  dimmed  the  chrysanthemums  and 
salvia  ran  like  fire  beyond  the  lawn.  Already 
the  day  outside  was  warm,  though  the  night 
chill  lingered  in  the  house.  Sarah  came  out  of 
her  door  a  little  later  with  jubilant  energy,  but 
her  mother,  up  and  dressed,  signaled  a  hasty 
warning  from  her  room. 

"Your  father  didn't  sleep  all  night,"  she  ex- 
plained in  a  whisper.  "He  is  trying  to  get  a 
nap  now,  before  he  goes  over  to  the  Univer- 
sity." She  looked  care-worn,  guilty.  "I  did  it, 
you  know,  Bunny !" 

"Well,  I  added  to-  it,"  Sarah  confessed. 

"Oh,  did  you,  dear?  He  is  frightfully  upset. 
He  won't  say  anything — he  just  bears  it.  And 
the  worst  of  it  is,  I  am  perfectly  likely  to  scream 
again  any  moment !" 

Sarah  had  to  stifle  a  laugh.  "Come  down  and 
have  breakfast,  anyway,"  she  suggested,  put- 
ting out  her  arm,  and  they  stole  down  the  stairs 
together  like  two  girls.  Safe  in  the  dining- 
room,  Mrs.  Cawthorne  reverted  to  Sarah's  ad- 
mission. 

"How  did  you  bother  him,  dear?" 

"I  said  things  to  Robert — so  he  would  hear. 
I  knew  there  would  be  trouble  this  morning." 


62  THE  STARLING 

"What  things?" 

"That  the  hedge  ought  to  come  down." 

"Oh,  Sarah!"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  was  shocked 
and  enjoyed  the  sensation;  then  vistas  of  past 
struggles  brought  a  slow  head-shake.  "You 
can't  fight  people  who  make  you  sorry,"  she 
said.  "I  used  to  fight,  all  those  years  and  years 
before  you  came;  but  whenever  I  went  more 
than-  so  far,  he  always  had  a  headache.  It  was 
so  mean  of  him!"  Her  laughter  was  suddenly 
uppermost.  "I  remember,  when  I  insisted  on 
having  your  Aunt  Sadi  stay  here — his  own  sis- 
ter!— he  went  to  bed  with  a  fever  afterward. 
I  don't  know  how  you  can  fight  that." 

"The  fever  was  real?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but  it  is  so  easy  to  be  ill!"  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  had  only  a  shrug  for  bodily  troubles. 
"If  you  think  you  have  been  wronged  and  let 
yourself  get  wrought  up,  of  course  you  have  a 
miserable  headache  or  a  temperature  or  in- 
somnia." 

"But  it  really  is  not — square,"  Sarah  argued 
with  her  courteous  little  hesitation  before  the 
harsh  term.  Sarah  might  have  been  the  orig- 
inal of  the  delightful,  "I'm  sorry  that  I  spelt 
the  word,  I  hate  to  go  above  you."  "To  get 


THE  STARLING  63 

your  own  way  by  making  people  sorry — no,  that 
truly  is  not  sporting." 

"Ah,  my  dear!"  murmured  her  mother,  but 
Sarah  did  not  heed. 

Presently  she  came  out  of  her  thoughts  at  a 
different  place.  "Was  he  just  the  same  before 
his  lameness,  mother  ?"  Mr.  Cawthorne  had  been 
thrown  from  a  horse  when  Sarah  was  a  baby, 
permanently  injuring  his  left  knee. 

"Just  about,  except  that  he  loved  walking. 
Every  day,  rain  or  shine,  he  took  a  long  walk." 

"Did  you  go  with  him?" 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  clasped  her  hands  behind 
her  head  and  blinked  at  memories  she  seemed 
to  find  on  the  ceiling,  a  glimmer  of  laughter 
growing  under  her  fluttering  lids.  "I  did  try 
to,  Bunny;  oh,  I  did!  But  you  couldn't  trust 
him.  He  would  say,  'Suppose  we  walk  over  to 
the  creek."  Well,  that  was  a  nice  safe  walk 
and  I'd  like  it.  But  when  we  got  started  he 
would  always  want  to  go  on  and  climb  Grizzly 
Peak  or  something — and  cut  across  lots  where 
there  was  a  bull  or  grass  all  full  of  snakes  or 
a  loose  horse,  and  open  the  gates  of  people's 
barnyards  with  cross  dogs  raging  out  at  us — oh, 
my  dear,  I  used  to  be  sick  with  apprehension 


64  THE  STARLING 

from  the  moment  we  started !"  Her  light  laugh 
rang  out,  taking  it  all  as  comedy.  "And  when 
we  would  really  just  go  to  the  creek  and  then 
turn  back,  I  would  be  so  gay,  I  nearly  danced !" 

Sarah's  troubled  gaze  had  passed  on  to  what 
lay  back  of  the  tale.  It  was  sometimes  hard  to 
preserve  the  perfect  idyl  of  dream-marriage 
in  the  face  of  the  parental  instance ;  and  yet  to 
have  marred  that  dream  would  have  left  her 
heart  so  widowed  that  she  had  often  to  do  a 
little  hasty  rearranging  of  facts. 

"He  didn't  know/'  she  urged.  "He  wanted 
you  with  him,  and  he  didn't  understand." 

"Oh,  he  knew;  but  he  didn't  care  so  long  as 
I  didn't  say  it.  If  he  could  seem  not  to  know  a 
thing,  it  never  bothered  him.  And,  of  course, 
I  was  ashamed  of  being  such  a  goose,  and  did 
my  best  to  hide  it.  But  when  your  knees  are 
shaking  so  that  you  can  hardly  walk,  and  your 
mouth  is  so  dry  that  you  can't  speak,  it's  hard 
not  to  seem  a  little  depressed.  I  never  should 
have  minded  being  killed,  or  even  badly  hurt. 
It  was  only  being  frightened  that  I  couldn't 
stand.  Now  and  then  I'd  say,  oh,  so  pleasantly ! 
— 'You  go  on,  dear,  and  I'll  turn  back ;'  but  he'd 
come  back  with  me  and  be  so  disappointed  that 


THE  STARLING  65 

— well,  you  know,  Bunny,  the  bull  was  almost 
better!  I  try  to  think  it's  my  bad  back  that 
makes  such  a  coward  of  me ;  and  then  they  used 
to  bring  girls  up  that  way.  It  was  always, 
'Lisa  mustn't  get  hurt!'  when  I  was  little.  I'm 
glad  you  are  brave,  darling.  But  that  was  one 
thing  that  made  me  want  to  be  very  consider- 
ate of  your  father.  I  knew  I  was  a  disappoint- 
ment to  him  about  walks." 

Sarah,  visualizing  with  painful  clearness  her 
mother's  terrors,  came  out  at  a  startling  dis- 
covery :  "Why,  then  I  suppose  you  were  almost 
relieved  when  he  couldn't  take  walks  any 
more !"  But  that  shocked  Mrs.  Cawthorne. 

"Oh,  Bunny,  dear !  It  nearly  broke  my  heart. 
That's  the  way  he  made  me  sorry  for  all  the 
walks  I  had  spoiled,"  she  added  with  a  sigh. 
"It  doesn't  pay  to  be  sorry.  Better  let  your  life 
be  swallowed  whole  than  be  sorry."  Then  she 
started,  turning  to  the  windows.  "Oh,  my 
dear!"  she  gasped. 

A  brisk  motor  had  swung  in  past  the  open- 
ing of  the  hedge  and  was  winding  through  the 
shrubbery,  tooting  freely  at  every  curve.  Its 
final  blast  was  delivered  squarely  under  Mr. 
Cawthorne's  windows,  where  the  gardener  was 


66  THE  STARLING 

weeding  the  drive.  Then  the  door-bell  pealed, 
and  Robert  Russell,  Jr.,  was  shown  in. 

"I  hope  I  am  not  too  early;  we  busy  phy- 
sicians have  to  come  as  we  can,"  he  said,  struck 
by  the  dismay  of  his  patient's  greeting.  For 
the  moment  Sarah  had  looked  nearly  as  fright- 
ened; then  Robert's  stalwart  presence  restored 
her  sense  of  proportion,  reminding  her  how 
things  were  outside  of  the  hedge.  After  all,  a 
man's  nap  was  not  a  life  and  death  matter ! 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said 
clearly,  as  though  hoping  that  the  words  might 
be  heard  up-stairs;  but  Mrs.  Cawthorne  had 
given  up  all  that  years  before. 

"Oh,  Robert,  you  must  leave  the  car  outside," 
she  exclaimed,  her  frail  hands  unconsciously 
clutching  his  sleeve.  "Your  father  always  does. 
Mr.  Cawthorne  hates  them.  And  this  morning 
of  all  others,  when  he  was  trying  to  get  a  little 
sleep — I  don't  know  what  he  will  say !" 

Robert  looked  down  on  her  distress  as  though 
he  were  studying  an  interesting  phenomenon. 
His  father  would  have  patted,  soothed  and 
joked,  but  the  son  merely  stood  like  a  tower  of 
serene  strength  and  thought  her  over. 

"I  suspected  as  much,"  he  said.    "I  shall  have 


THE  STARLING  67 

to  begin  with  your  family,  Mrs.  Cawthorne,  be- 
fore I—" 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  begin  with  me 
now?"  said  a  suave  voice  from  the  doorway. 
Mr.  Cawthorne  stood  there,  small  and  bland, 
with  a  dire  gleam  behind  his  glasses.  "I  have 
fifteen  minutes  that  I  can  spare  you  before  I 
go  to  my  class.  I  think  I  should  enjoy  a  little 
talk  with  you." 

"Thank  you.  I  should  like  it  very  much," 
said  Robert  heartily. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  made  a  frightened  move- 
ment, as  though  she  would  have  saved  him, 
then  sank  into  a  chair.  Even  Sarah  was  pale 
as  they  watched  the  little  elderly  man  conduct 
the  big  young  one  to  his  library  and  softly  close 
the  door. 

"Oh,  Sarah!"  moaned  her  mother,  clenched 
fingers  at  her  mouth. 

Her  own  pounding  heart  angered  Sarah. 
"Father  can't  actually  hurt  Robert,"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Oh,  he  can  half  kill  him!  There  are  words 
worse  than  swords.  But  it  isn't  the  words — 
it's  having  your  personality  sucked  out  of  your 
body.  I  don't  know  how  he  does  it — it's  chemi- 


68  THE  STARLING 

cal,  Bunny!  He  leaves  you  a  rag,  a  nonentity. 
You  defy  him  in  your  heart  a  million  times,  but 
face  to  face  you  are  like  a  hypnotized  bird — all 
the  strength  and  value  drawn  out  of  you !"  She 
had  never  spoken  so  before,  never  shown  any- 
thing deeper  than  a  laughingly  helpless  deri- 
sion, and  Sarah  was  as  startled  as  though  the 
familiar  wall  had  developed  a  secret  door.  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  went  on  with  suppressed  passion: 
"You  can't  fight  a  person  who  has  no  heart — 
not  unless  you  have  no  heart  yourself.  You've 
got  to  be  willing  to  hurt  even  to  the  death ;  and 
if  you  have  a  heart,  you  aren't  willing.  You 
would  rather  be  wiped  out  than  hurt  any  one 
like  that.  Your  own  heart  will  defeat  you, 
dearest,  will  always  defeat  you.  Don't  try, 
don't  try !"  Her  clinging  hands  begged  a  prom- 
ise, but  Sarah's  power  to  soothe  rested  on  the 
very  fact  that,  for  all  her  gentleness,  she  never 
gave  false  comfort. 

"He  is  human,  mother;  and,  also,  he  knows 
the  truth  when  he  hears  it,"  she  said  steadily. 
"He  may  fight  it,  but  he  knows.  He  is  going  to 
hear  a  good  deal  of  it  from  me.  I  am  not  afraid 
any  longer ;  it  is  only  a  bad  habit  now.  My  body 
shakes,  but  my  mind  doesn't."  She  even  smiled. 


THE  STARLING  69 

"You  know,  I  rather  like  him!  One  wants  to 
kill  him,  but  he  has  charm." 

A  curious  light  transfigured  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne's  face ;  for  the  moment,  a  fragile  loveli- 
ness seemed  to  rise  like  the  mirage  of  a  lost 
girlhood.  "Ah,  if  you  had  known  him  thirty 
years  ago!  Charm — there  never  was  such 
charm!"  Then  the  flush  faded  and  she  shook 
away  tears  with  her  light  laugh.  "Don't  marry 
charm,  Bunny;  it  is  of  very  little  use  in  the 
domestic  circle.  Marry  good,  solid,  common- 
place qualities,  health  and  affection  and,  if  pos- 
sible, no  sense  of  humor."  That  brought  back 
her  thoughts  to  the  closed  door  across  the  hall. 
"Oh,  I  am  sorry  for  Robert.  It  was  my  fault," 
she  exclaimed. 

She  frankly  watched,  and  Sarah  less  frankly 
leaned  on  a  chair  back  that  was  within  range. 
She  had  emerged  crushed  from  that  door  too 
often  not  to  dread  the  appearance  of  poor  gal- 
lant Robert,  who  had  gone  so  unselfishly  to  their 
aid.  They  listened  as  though  crashing  sounds 
might  be  expected.  Sarah  tried  feebly  to  make 
fun  of  their  suspense,  but  when  at  last  the  door- 
knob turned,  her  body  was  sorely  shaken  for 
her  champion's  sake. 


70  THE  STARLING 

The  door  swung  back,  opened  by  a  vigorous 
hand,  and  the  two  men  were  revealed,  framed 
together :  a  large,  serene,  confident  young  prac- 
titioner, every  smooth  blond  hair  in  place,  and 
in  his  shadow  a  small,  rumpled,  baffled-looking 
scholar  with  a  hurried  limp.  Some  new  and 
bewildering  experience  must  have  befallen  Mr. 
Cawthorne.  Had  a  master  of  the  rapier  tried 
to  fight  a  mastodon,  he  might  have  given  that 
same  shriveled  and  exasperated  effect. 

"We  physicians  have  to  tell  people  things 
they  don't  want  to  hear.  That  is  what  we  are 
for,"  Robert  was  saying  with  a  kindly  patience. 
"And  we  don't  have  any  hard  feelings  if  it 
isn't  welcome.  We  learn  to  leave  our  personali- 
ties at  home." 

"I  should  be  grateful  if  you  would  bring  yours 
v/ith  you  another  time,"  was  the  sharp  answer. 
"I  have  a  message  for  it."  And  Mr.  Cawthorne 
went  out,  shutting  the  front  door  with  primitive 
vehemence. 

Robert  came  back  to  his  case  smiling  con- 
tentedly from  a  whole  skin. 

"Very  clever  man,  Mr.  Cawthorne,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Peppery,  but  we  don't  mind  that. 
We  get  the  nurse's  attitude — hot  words  are  no 


THE  STARLING  71 

more  important  than  what  is  said  in  delirium. 
Your  husband  and  I  are  going  to  be  great 
friends  before  we  are  through,  Mrs.  Cawthorne. 
And  now  shall  we  get  down  to  business?" 

LIrs.  Cawthorne  was  looking  up  at  him  as 
though  he  had  returned  from  the  jaws  of  death. 
"You  are  an  amazing  person,  Robert,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  think  you  will  succeed."  Sarah  said 
nothing,  but  she  felt  as  a  slim  white  yacht  must 
feel  when  an  ironclad  comes  up  the  coast. 

Robert  descended  from  Mrs.  Cawthorne's 
room  an  hour  later,  drawing  on  his  gloves  with 
an  air  of  professional  power  that  smote  Sarah 
deliciously  under  the  second  button  of  her 
blouse.  She  stood  by  the  front  door  in  a  droopy 
garden  hat  and  gauntlets,  a  flat  basket  heaped 
with  dark  red  chrysanthemums  in  her  hand,  as 
different  from  the  gay,  go-ahead,  unromantic 
modern  girls  that  he  knew  as  the  life  inside  the 
hedge  differed  from  the  world  outside.  Their 
fragrance  was  only  orris;  they  might  fall  in 
love  or  frankly  challenge  him  to  do  so,  but  there 
was  no  lingering  poetry  in  the  way  they  looked 
at  him,  they  could  not — to  save  their  necks — be 
at  the  same  time  delicately  aloof  and  yet  hero- 
worshipping. 


72  THE  STARLING 

"Sarah,  I  want  to  talk  with  you  for  ten  min- 
utes," Robert  began  with  a  preoccupied  glance 
at  his  watch. 

"Come  out  into  the  sun,"  she  said,  and  turned 
back  to  the  front  steps,  shutting  the  door  that 
they  might  not  be  overheard.  "You  are  not 
worried  about  my  mother?"  she  added  quickly 
as  he  did  not  speak. 

"Oh,  no.  Nothing  of  that  sort."  Robert  sat 
down  beside  her,  but  seemed  indolent  about  be- 
ginning. It  was  wonderfully  pleasant  there.  A 
little  orange  tree  beneath  them  was  already  in 
blossom,  and  the  round  bed  of  heliotrope  across 
the  drive  was  still  sweet.  Sarah  felt  herself 
opening  like  a  flower  in  the  sun. 

"I  can't  sit  on  the  steps  like  this  that  I  don't 
instinctively  put  out  my  hand  for  a  little  dog," 
she  confided.  "I  never  had  one,  yet  the  ghosts 
of  little  dogs  trot  about  the  garden  with  me  and 
climb  into  my  lap  when  I  sit  down.  Don't  you 
love  the  way  a  dog  smiles  up  at  you?" 

He  quite  obviously  loved  the  way  Sarah 
smiled  up  at  him.  "You  ought  to  have  a  dog," 
he  said.  "I  prescribe  it  for  you.  I  will  find 
you — " 

"Oh,  no !"    The  idea  made  her  laugh.    "My 


THE  STARLING  73 

father  hates  dogs  worse  than  he  hates  motor- 
cars." 

That  brought  him  back  to  the  professional 
issue.  He  turned  a  disapproving  look  on  the 
hedge. 

"Well,  I  let  your  father  have  it  pretty  straight 
this  morning;"  he  had  a  disciplinary  nod  for 
Mr.  Cawthorne.  "I  began  with  the  hedge — 
abominable  thing! — but  I  very  soon  saw  that 
that  was  hopeless.  We  physicians  have  to  have 
a  sort  of  instinct,  when  to  go  on  and  when  to  re- 
treat." Again  that  faint  drawing  up  of  the 
shoulders,  which  Sarah  loved.  "So  I  dropped 
that  and  gave  him  my  alternative:  a  winter  in 
the  city." 

"Leave  home!"  She  could  not  take  it  seri- 
ously. 

"The  sooner  the  better."  He  turned  to  face 
her  squarely.  "Sarah,  there  is  nothing  organic 
the  matter  with  your  mother.  I  had  a  long  talk 
with  my  father  about  her  last  night — he  takes 
very  much  my  view  of  the  case ;  and  everything 
I  have  seen  this  morning  confirms  my  impres- 
sion. She  is  frail,  very  highly  strung,  and  this 
life  has  had  somewhat  the  effect  on  her  that 
solitary  confinement  has  on  a  prisoner.  I  want 


74  THE  STARLING 

to  get  her  into  more  normal  conditions. 
Shouldn't  you  like  it  yourself?" 

"Like  it?"  Sarah's  eyes  brimmed  with  tears. 
"Like  it,  Robert!  Oh,  I  have  been  beating 
against  the  bars  ever  since  I  can  remember! 
But  my  father  will  never — " 

"That's  the  sort  of  thing  my  father  says — 
'Cawthorne  won't.'  We  younger  men  say,  'By 
George,  Cawthorne  has  got  to!'  Of  course,  he 
refused;  blew  up,  in  fact.  I  let  htm.  Then  I 
told  him  the  same  thing  over  again,  and  then 
again.  That's  my  method.  You  leave  him  to 
me."  Robert  rose,  buttoning  his  coat.  "He 
can  stay  here  if  he  chooses,  but  you  two  are 
going." 

He  was  so  tranquil  with  power  that  for  the 
moment  she  believed  him.  "You  are  like  a 
knight  riding  to  the  rescue,"  she  said.  "You 
don't  know — oh,  you  don't  know !" 

He  did  not  at  all  want  to  go.  "Ride  down  to 
the  hospital  with  me,"  he  commanded.  "I  shall 
have  to  fly,  but  the  run  will  do  you  good.  As 
your  family  physician,  I  insist  on  it."  He  held 
back  the  door  of  the  offending  car,  and  with  an, 
"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  still  on  her  lips,  Sarah  found 
herself  stepping  in.  "I  can't  bring  you  back, 


THE  STARLING  75 

but  you  won't  mind  taking  the  trolley,  will 
you?"  he  added,  starting  the  machinery  with 
skilful  hands. 

"I  haven't  any  money." 

"Then,  of  course,  you  will  have  to  walk." 

Their  laughter  ended  in  happy  silence.  Rob- 
ert, who  did  only  one  thing  at  a  time  and  did  it 
beautifully,  gave  his  whole  attention  to  running 
the  car,  and  Sarah,  holding  the  brim  of  her  gar- 
den hat,  smiled  out  from  under  it  at  the  flying 
world  and  called  to  it,  "I'm  getting  out,  I'm  get- 
ting out!"  in  her  wildly  beating  heart.  When 
they  jumped  down  at  the  hospital,  she  put  up  a 
meek  palm,  and  Robert,  straightening  a  leg  and 
lifting  an  elbow,  brought  out  a  handful  of  sil- 
ver with  an  amused  and  husbandly  air. 

"Better  take  more.  Something  might  hap- 
pen," he  urged,  but  she  would  have  only  a  nickel. 

"If  I  took  more,  I  should  pay  it  back ;  and  it 
is  such  fun  not  to,"  she  said.  The  sheer  fun  of 
it  made  her  laugh  to  herself  all  the  way  home. 
For  once,  life  had  had  almost  as  much  charm 
as  she  could  put  into  it  in  her  dreams. 

She  knew  that  Mr.  Cawthorne  would  be  back 
from  the  University  by  this  time,  and  she 
slipped  into  the  house  with  excusable  quietness, 


76  THE  STARLING 

but  the  library  door  stood  open  as  though  he 
had  been  watching  for  her. 

"Sarah !"  he  summoned  her.  There  was  none 
of  the  usual  amused  drawl  in  his  voice;  he  sat 
sharply  upright  at  his  desk,  moving  his  papers 
about  with  quick  irritable  hands. 

"Remember  that  your  mind  isn't  afraid — it 
is  only  your  body,"  Sarah  warned  herself  as  she 
went  in.  It  was  hard  not  to  propitiate,  not  to 
offer  a  pleasantly  innocent,  "Did  you  want  me?" 
that  would  testify  to  a  blameless  conscience; 
only  in  the  last  year  or  two  had  she  put  down 
that  weakness.  She  knew  that  she  must  look 
grave  and  composed  and  fully  capable  of  recog- 
nizing it  if  any  one  made  himself  ridiculous, 
and  not  even  Mr.  Cawthorne's  merciless  vision 
could  have  seen  how  her  heart  was  thumping 
as  she  stood  there,  awaiting  his  explanation. 

"Look  here,  Sarah,  I  don't  want  your  mother 
to  have  dealings  with  that  young  jackass;"  a 
final  push  at  the  papers  launched  him  on  his 
subject.  "If  her  health  demands  it,  she  can 
call  in  the  best  doctor  on  the  coast,  or  send  East 
for  a  specialist — I  don't  care.  But  I  won't  have 
this  raw  specimen  experimenting  on  her  or  tell- 
ing me  how  I  should  conduct  my  life." 


THE  STARLING  77 

Sarah  spoke  quietly,  almost  indifferently :  "I 
thought  what  he  said  was  very  sensible." 

Her  father  visibly  started,  and  then  their 
eyes  locked.  It  seemed  to  Sarah  as  though  her 
whole  future  as  her  father's  child  hung  on  the 
outcome  of  that  look.  "He  is  only  a  selfish  lit- 
tle man,  very  cross,"  she  told  herself,  over  and 
over,  and  though  on  Mr.  Cawthorne's  side  the 
encounter  ended  in  weary  contempt,  she  knew 
that  she  had  not  lost. 

"Sarah,  I'm  a  n-n-nervous  man ;"  he  had  sud- 
denly relaxed  into  his  most  drawling  stammer. 
"For  the  truth's  sake,  I  have  to  c-contradict 
about  everything  you  say,  but  I  don't  want  any 
a-a-argument  about  it.  Your  blond  friend  will 
never  make  a  success  as  a  doctor.  I  admire  him 
unspeakably,  but  he  has  the  hide  of  a  r-r-rhin- 
oceros  and  the  understanding  of  a  public  school 
defective.  He  ought  to  go  on  the  stage. 
Strongly  as  I  am  drawn  to  him,  I  must  refuse 
to  encourage  him  in  a  mistaken  career.  I  don't 
want  to  hear  him  blow  his  horn  again,  inside 
or  outside  of  my  house.  Have  I  been  perfectly 
c-c-clear?" 

Two  furious  little  flames  burned  in  Sarah's 
cheeks  and  her  quiet  had  grown  rigid,  but  by 


78  THE  STARLING 

main  force  she  kept  her  eyes  as  expressionless 
as  her  voice. 

"Mother  has  faith  in  him  and  that  in  itself 
helps,"  she  said.  "And  if  she  and  I  go  to  town 
for  the  winter,  he  is  not  likely  to  trouble  you." 

She  had  at  least  broken  through  his  guard; 
his  speech  was  suddenly  sharp  again.  "Your 
mother  is  about  as  fit  to  live  in  town  as  you  are 
to — do  any  useful  thing.  Don't  quote  that 
young  man's  nonsense,  if  you  please.  I  don't 
want  him  admitted  to  the  house  again.  That  is 
all  I  have  to  say." 

Sarah  left  the  room  without  answering  and 
went  straight  up  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Caw- 
.thorne  lay  on  a  couch,  her  hands  clasped  under 
her  head,  her  eyes  happy  with  dreams. 

"Oh,  Sarah  dear,"  she  began  at  once, 
"wouldn't  it  be  fun  if  your  father  really  -would 
move  over  to  town  for  a  few  months?  Robert 
suggested  it,  and  told  me  about  some  furnished 
apartments.  I  could  go  out  and  ride  on  the 
dummies  every  day,  and  get  to  a  shop  now  and 
then,  and  be  near  your  Cousin  Frances.  We 
could  go  to  matinees,  Bunny — or  a  movie!" 
With  her  shining  eyes,  she  looked  almost  girl- 
ish. "Your  father  would  have  to  cross  the  bay 


THE  STARLING  79 

twice  a  week  for  his  classes,  and  of  course  noth- 
ing on  earth  would  make  him  do  it,  anyway; 
but  I  have  had  such  a  beautiful  time,  playing 
with  it!  I  love  the  city,  but,  when  I  go  from 
here,  I  get  there  too  tired.  We'd  slip  out  at 
night,  sometimes,  darling,  and  see  the  lights  and 
the  people.  You  would  adore  it!  Nelly  could 
go  with  us,  and  Maria  could  get  her  niece  to 
stay  with  her  here — she  would  have  a  nice  rest. 
Oh,  I  have  it  all  planned — I've  even  packed  the 
trunks!"  Her  laugh  rang  out.  "What  could 
we  do  to  make  that  bad  old  man  consent?" 

Sarah  had  sat  down  on  the  couch,  her  face 
averted,  gently  rubbing  her  mother,  who  had  a 
cat's  love  of  being  stroked. 

"Suppose  we  go  without  him,"  she  said.  "He 
would  not  be  happy  over  there,  and  that  would 
spoil  it  for  us." 

"Leave  him  alone!" 

"Why  not?  He  lives  alone  here,  anyway. 
And  Maria  can  take  care  of  him." 

"Oh,  but,  dearest !"  A  dozen  fatal  objections 
struggled  for  precedence.  "Maria  wouldn't  do 
things  nicely  enough  if  I  weren't  here.  He  is 
so  particular.  With  all  the  pains  I  take,  half 
the  time  he  won't  eat  his  soup  or  his  salad  or 


80  THE  STARLING 

something.  And  he  doesn't  say  much,  Bunny — 
we  must  admit  that.  But  when  he  gets  up  from 
the  table  and  goes  away  with  that  patient,  half 
fed  air — oh,  darling,  it  does  make  me  so 
wretched !" 

"And  then  you  don't  eat  anything  more  your- 
self;" Sarah's  quiet  was  still  a  matter  of  a 
clenched  will;  "but  if  you  are  not  at  the  table, 
he  eats  what  is  set  before  him  without  noticing. 
I  have  seen  that  for  years.  I  really  think  he 
would  be  as  happy  without  us.  And  I  want  to 
go,  mother.  Very  much.  I  almost  think  that  it 
is — my  right.  Shouldn't  I  have  a  chance  at  life 
before  I  am — too  old?  I  can't  leave  you,  you 
know,  so  oughtn't  you  perhaps  to  come  with 
me  ?"  All  her  softening  hesitations,  the  caress- 
ing tenderness  of  her  hand,  could  not  keep  down 
Mrs.  Cawthorne's  distress. 

"Of  course  you  should  be  having  it,  darling! 
Ah,  we  will  find  a  way.  You  can  perfectly  well 
leave  me — " 

"No.    And  you  know  it,  mother." 

"Ah,  don't  ask  me  to  go !  He  would  make  me 
sorry,  one  way  or  another.  And  I  can  not  bear 
being  sorry — I  have  learned  that.  You  know 
he  wouldn't  like  it." 


THE  STARLING  81 

"Yes;  but  he  doesn't  like  Robert,  mother. 
He  wants  us  to  forbid  him  the  house." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  looked  grave  over  that;  then 
she  shrugged.  "Oh,  well,  Robert  is  only  an 
amusement.  And  if  he  is  going  to  come  charg- 
ing in  and  disturb  your  father — I  can  write  him 
a  very  tactful  little  note.  That  doesn't  matter 
very  much." 

"It  matters  to  me!" — the  words  were  at 
Sarah's  lips,  but  she  crushed  them  back.  Her 
mother  would  have  exclaimed,  wanted  to  know 
more,  and  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  tell. 
But,  as  the  price  of  that  suppression,  she  told 
something  else,  baldly,  without  any  of  the  usual 
softening  of  harsh  facts. 

"He  doesn't  like  my  book,  either.  He  read  it 
and  he  says  it  is  trash.  I  am  not  going  to  pub- 
lish it.  He  said  it  was  a  nice  way  to  occupy 
myself  and  that  I  might  do  something  when  I 
knew  more  about  life,  but  that  this  was  funda- 
mentally trash." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  had  risen  up  on  one  stiffen- 
ing arm.  Sarah  was  frightened  when  she  saw 
the  blaze  in  her  white  face. 

"Oh,  cruel,  stupid!"  she  breathed.  "He 
doesn't  know  what  he  is  talking  about.  He  is 


82  THE  STARLING 

ignorant,  Sarah — ignorant  of  everything  but 
the  one  thing  he  knows.  Don't  believe  him. 
How  can  he  understand  your  book  when  he 
hasn't  a  heart  to  read  it  by?"  She  rose,  draw- 
ing her  dressing-gown  tightly  about  her. 
"Don't  listen  to  him,  don't  let  him  crush  you 
down!  Wait  here!" 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Sarah  exclaimed. 

"To  speak  to  him!"  she  said  from  the  door, 
and  closed  it  after  her  with  an  authority  that 
might  not  be  questioned. 

She  came  back  in  five  minutes,  still  with  that 
exalted  dignity,  the  composure  of  a  wrath  that 
has  transcended  bodily  frailty  and  hampering 
compassion. 

"I  have  told  him  that  he  does  not  know  any- 
thing about  human  beings,  and  that  he  judged 
your  book  like  a  fool,"  she  said  harshly,  throw- 
ing off  her  wrapper  and  beginning  to  dress. 
"And  I  told  him  we  were  going  over  to  town  at 
once,  you  and  I,  to  find  an  apartment  for  the 
winter.  I  told  him  that  it  was  your  turn,  and 
that  I  meant  to  see  that  you  got  it;  that  he 
wasn't  going  to  swallow  your  life  whole! 
Hurry,  Sarah — bring  a  bag  and  we  will  stay  all 
night.  Don't  lose  a  minute!" 


THE  STARLING  83 

She  was  not  to  be  answered  in  that  mood. 
Sarah  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room,  but  a 
moment  later  she  was  charging  up  the  attic 
stairs,  to  dive  to  the  bottom  of  the  camphor- 
wood  chest  where  the  manuscript  was  hidden. 
The  other  treasures,  scattered  right  and  left, 
lay  where  they  fell  as  she  ran  down,  her  book 
clasped  against  her  heart.  Into  the  dead  faces 
of  Richard  Dockery  and  Virginia,  his  daugh- 
ter, had  come  a  flicker  of  life. 


OF  course,  as  soon  as  the  excitement  of 
catching  the  train  had  died  down,  Sarah 
knew  that  it  was  not  really  true.  She  was 
not  going  to  get  out  as  easily  as  this.  A  hedge 
that  has  been  growing  for  a  generation  can  not 
be  brushed  away  in  a  moment.  She  played 
up,  discussed  neighborhoods  and  rents  and  the 
number  of  rooms  they  should  require,  responded 
with  unflagging  excitement  to  the  reckless  holi- 
day mood  that  had  followed  her  mother's  wrath ; 
but  all  the  time  it  was  like  a  tantalizingly  good 
dream  wherein  the  sleeper  fights  a  growing 
conviction  that  he  is  not  awake. 

The  familiar  trip  across  the  bay  had  become 
high  adventure.  Sarah  stood  up  in  front  of 
the  ferry  boat,  that  she  might  fee]  it  galloping 
under  her  to  the  bright  west  and  the  purpling 
mass  of  the  city,  flung  over  its  hills  and  banded 
down  like  Gulliver  in  Lilliput  by  its  taut  streets. 
Their  lunch  hour  was  long  past,  so  they  went 
first  to  the  hotel,  high  above  the  town,  and 
walked  carpeted  miles  to  the  two  rooms  and 
bath  that  Mrs.  Cawthorne  had  commanded. 

84 


THE  STARLING  85 

"Isn't  it  fun!"  they  laughed,  exploring  their 
comforts  and  comparing  the  views  from  their 
respective  windows.  They  were  still  more  gay 
at  their  table  in  the  deserted  lunch  room,  order- 
ing barracuda  and  artichokes  and  alligator  pear 
salad  and  other  delightful  things  that  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne  would  not  eat. 

"If  it  were  only  real!"  was  Sarah's  secret 
cry  as  they  set  out  on  their  quest.  "If  I  didn't 
know  that  it  will  come  to  an  end  any  minute !" 

The  doubt  followed  her  through  every  door- 
way. Her  mother  was  burningly  in  earnest, 
they  allotted  the  rooms  and  planned  life  in  every 
apartment  that  was  worth  considering,  and  yet 
it  seemed  to  Sarah  as  if  the  very  janitors  knew 
that  they  were  not  really  coming.  By  night 
they  had  taken  the  refusal  of  two  furnished 
apartments,  and  were  to  decide  between  them 
in  the  morning.  Mrs.  Cawthorae,  still  precari- 
ously upright,  suggested  a  theater  after  dinner, 
but  collapsed  relievedly  when  Sarah  declared 
for  bed.  Sarah  tucked  her  up  and  pretended  to 
believe  that  she  would  go  right  to  sleep,  for  a 
private  drama  awaited  her  in  her  own  room, 
and  she  was  in  a  fever  to  be  alone  with  it. 

The  hotel  bedroom,  hard  and  bright,  imper- 


86  THE  STARLING 

sonally  luxurious,  with  the  lights  of  the  city 
stretched  for  crowded  miles  far  beneath  its  one 
great  plate-glass  window,  had  for  her  a  roman- 
tic charm  that  would  in  itself  have  been  drama 
enough,  once  the  door  was  shut ;  and  yet  it  was 
only  the  setting  for  the  coming  adventure.  For 
Richard  Dockery  and  Virginia,  his  daughter, 
mourned  as  dead,  had  been  given  another 
chance  at  life.  Sarah  took  out  the  manuscript 
as  she  might  have  lifted  the  curtain  that  had 
hidden  their  last  rest. 

For  two  hours  she  read — only  it  was  not  like 
reading;  it  was  like  running,  and  loving,  and 
laughing,  and  crying,  and  the  warmth  of  kind 
arms  across  happy  shoulders.  Such  a  father 
and  daughter,  merry-hearted,  teasing,  unfath- 
omably  tender,  perfect  in  loyalty,  glad  of  each 
other  every  good  morning  and  no  less  close 
when  the  shadowy  lover  had  broken  his  difficult 
way  in — how  could  their  tale  be  trash!  Mr. 
Cawthorne  knew  literature,  but  was  it  perhaps 
true  that,  as  her  mother  had  said,  he  did  not 
know  hearts? 

"I  must  find  out,"  Sarah  said  aloud,  and  pre- 
tended to  hesitate,  but  she  had  known  by  the 
fifth  chapter  what  she  was  going  to  do.  Chris- 


THE  STARLING  87 

topher  Saxe  had  told  her  to  write  out  her 
dreams  and  send  them  to  him.    The  book  was 
his  doing,  and  he  must  judge. 
She  wrote  a  bald  note : 

"My  father  says  this  is  trash  and  my  mother 
thinks  it  is  beautiful.  My  father  is  probably 
right,  but  I  must  give  it  one  more  chance.  Will 
you  read  it  and  tell  me  the  truth  ?  You  offered 
to,  once.  You  came  into  our  garden  in  a  high 
wind.  Perhaps  you  have  forgotten — but  I  must 
know." 

Then  she  addressed  the  parcel  to  Christopher 
Saxe,  University  Club,  and  sent  it  by  a  mes- 
senger. If  Mr.  Saxe  was  not  in  town,  it  was  to 
be  brought  back.  For  an  hour  she  stood  at  the 
window  or  wandered  about  the  room,  afraid  it 
would  come  back,  afraid  that  it  would  not. 
When  at  last  she  put  out  her  light,  she  saw  that 
there  was  a  line  of  light  under  Mrs.  Cawthorne's 
door,  but  she  could  not  go  and  offer  soothing 
services.  Life  was  too  richly,  madly  exciting! 

By  her  mother's  face,  in  the  morning,  Sarah 
knew  that  their  flight  was  over;  the  ancient 
habit  had  beaten  her  wrath,  and  her  eyes  were 
harassed,  guilty.  Yet  she  still  kept  the  flag  of 
revolt  flying. 

"Bunny,  darling,  I  am  a  rag,"  she  said  gaily. 


88  THE  STARLING 

"We  can't  go  back  to  those  apartments  this 
morning,  but  I  don't  believe  any  one  will  snatch 
them.  You  can  go  out  by  yourself  and  cruise 
about,  if  you  like.  I  think  I  can  sleep.  You 
might  look  up  the  addresses  on  Pacific  Avenue." 

She  talked  on,  defying  the  truth,  and  Sarah 
tried  to  make  cheerful  answer ;  but  telling  her- 
self that  she  had  foreseen  it  all  along  could  not 
lighten  her  disappointment.  Yesterday  she  had 
known  that  escape  was  impossible,  but  to-day  it 
seemed  as  though  she  had  missed  it  by  a  hair's 
breadth.  She  made  her  mother  comfortable  and 
sent  for  breakfast,  meeting  her  insistent  good 
spirits  with  a  courteous  sweetness  that  was 
more  touching  than  she  knew.  Mrs.  Cawthorne, 
in  the  middle  of  a  laugh,  suddenly  covered  her 
eyes,  which  were  drowned  in  tears. 

"I  tried,  darling — I  did  try,"  she  stammered. 
"If  I  weren't  such  a  fool,  I  could  do  it.  But  that 
poor  old  man,  all  alone — he  would  die  before  he 
would  say  that  he  minded  it,  but  all  night  long 
I  have  seen  him,  so  gray  and  bleak  and  for- 
saken !  I  can't  bear  it,  dear — I  can't." 

"I  know — I  understand.  I  knew  it  yesterday, 
before  you  did." 

"But,  Sarah,  you  shall  have  it!"   She  caught 


THE  STARLING  89 

the  girl's  hand,  pulling  her  down  beside  her  on 
the  bed.  "Now  let  us  be  sensible  and  practical 
and  see  how  we  can  manage  it  for  you.  There 
is  your  Cousin  Frances;  but  that  is  an  elderly 
household,  and  she  hasn't  much  room.  If  only 
your  Aunt  Sadi  lived  here !  You  don't  remem- 
ber her,  do  you?  She  is  so  full  of  life  and  en- 
ergy. If  she  should  invite  you — " 

Sarah's  hand  stopped  the  eager  flow. 
"Mother,  dear!  If  I  left  you  alone,  don't  you 
know  what  I  should  see  in  the  night?  And 
hear?" 

"Ah,  you  darling!  But  what  if  I  do  scream 
now  and  then?  It  isn't  a  killing  matter." 

Sarah  kissed  her  and  rose.  "We  will  take  an 
afternoon  boat  back,"  she  said.  "But  I  make 
one  condition,  mother." 

"Anything!"  Mrs.  Cawthorne's  eagerness  be- 
trayed the  welling  relief  in  her  soul. 

"That  you  don't  give  up  Doctor  Robert." 
Sarah's  color  deepened,  but  she  would  not  be 
stopped  by  that.  "I  believe  he  can  do  you  good ; 
and  I  won't  stand  having  him  forbidden  the 
house.  That  is  a  solemn  condition." 

"Yes,  dear !  But  he  can  leave  the  car  outside, 
don't  you  think?  We  might  concede  that?" 


90  THE  STARLING 

Sarah  had  to  smile.  "Yes;  we  will  concede 
that." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  settled  down  into  her  pil- 
lows with  a  long  breath  of  peace.  "Send  away 
the  tray,  darling,  and  lower  the  shade,"  she 
murmured.  "Ah,  you  are  such  a  dear — " 

Sarah  presently  went  down  the  steep  streets 
into  the  thick  of  the  city.  The  sun  had  lost  its 
summer  glare  and  the  trade  winds  were  stilled ; 
a  ripe  October  beauty  rose  like  a  mist  from 
every  amethyst  shadow,  and  the  bay  spread  a 
sapphire  band  across  every  vista.  It  was  a  set- 
ting for  life  and  love  and  people  to  wrench  the 
heart  of  a  prisoner  on  parole.  Sarah  could  not 
remember  Richard  Dockery  now,  or  last  night's 
bold  venture ;  a  book  seemed  a  small  matter  be- 
side the  chance  at  life  that  she  had  missed. 

She  looked  into  the  morning  faces  she  passed 
and  at  the  happy  crowds  on  the  dummies :  they 
were  all  in  twos  and  threes,  girls  going  shop- 
ping together,  young  women  with  very  clean 
babies,  men  hurrying  to  meet  other  men  with  a 
wave  for  passing  friends,  married  couples  from 
other  cities — everybody  had  some  one,  even  to  a 
pig-tailed  Chinaman  with  his  little  pink  silk 
son  by  the  hand.  Only  Sarah  went  alone. 


THE  STARLING  91 

She  sat  down  in  a  square  in  the  heart  of 
town,  between  the  hotels  and  the  shops,  feeling 
as  she  used  to  feel  when  the  party  went  on 
about  her  and  she  could  not  find  the  way  in. 
There  were  lonely  people  on  the  other  benches, 
lonely,  shabby,  discouraged  people  slouched 
down  under  their  hat  brims,  looking  on  at  the 
spectacle  of  prosperous  life,  but  their  longings, 
though  different,  were  no  fiercer  than  Sarah's. 

"I  want  a  friend!  Send  me  a  girl  friend!" 
She  could  have  cried  it  aloud  to  the  crowded 
square;  and  at  last,  as  though  in  answer,  the 
passing  stream  revealed  a  swirl  of  red-gold  hair 
under  a  dark  blue  toque  and  a  cool  efficient  per- 
sonality looking  out  through  eyelashes  that  had 
once  been  too  light,  but  that  had  becomingly 
and  most  adroitly  browned  since  the  Warrens 
had  moved  to  the  city. 

Sarah  started  to  her  feet. 

"Dosia  Warren!" 

Dosia  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant,  then  she 
smiled  as  an  older  person  smiles  at  something 
quaint  and  young. 

"Why,  Sarah  Cawthorne!"  Her  handshake 
was  impersonally  kind  rather  than  friendly, 
just  as  her  championship  had  been,  a  dozen 


92  THE  STARLING 

years  ago,  but  Sarah  was  too  happy  to  discrim- 
inate. "You  grew  up,  didn't  you!  I  supposed 
you  were  still  a  romantic  little  girl  inside  a  big 
evergreen  hedge." 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  I  am,"  said  Sarah  rue- 
fully. "I  don't  feel  half  as  grown  up  as  you 
look,  Dosia!" 

Dosia  laughed.  Sarah  could  always  catch 
her  attention  and  make  her  laugh,  for  she  had 
never  been  as  shy  with  Dosia  as  she  was  with 
the  other  girls  who  had  given  parties  years 
ago.  That  first  defense  had  bred  trust,  and  the 
term  "duck,"  though  dispassionately  uttered, 
had  echoed  hearteningly  in  Sarah's  ears.  She 
had  believed  that  she  could  have  been  "best 
friends"  with  the  competent,  experienced  little 
girl  if  only  Dosia  had  had  time  to  give  her  a 
chance.  They  had  both  liked  to  talk  about 
Life  and  Real  Things,  and  Sarah  could  not  un- 
derstand that  mental  congeniality  was  not 
enough  for  Dosia.  Even  at  thirteen  that  so- 
phisticated little  person  had  known  who  was 
"important"  and  who  was  not. 

"Are  you  staying  over  here?"  she  asked  as 
they  walked  on  together. 

"Just  to-day."    A  sigh  rose  in  Sarah's  voice. 


THE  STARLING  93 

"I  hoped  we  should  take  an  apartment  for  the 
winter,  but  it  isn't  going  to  happen." 

Dosia  answered  the  tone.  "Well,  the  first 
winter  is  rather  deadly.  You  see,  you  don't 
lead  anywhere.  You  can  only  ask  people  who 
know  each  other  anyway,  without  you." 

Sarah  was  puzzled.  "But  won't  they  come  to 
see  you?" 

"Oh,  to  a  certain  extent,"  Dosia  conceded. 
"But  not  as  they  will  if  you  lead  to  something 
new.  It  is  the  doors  you  open  that  make  you 
count." 

"Count,"  Sarah  repeated  worriedly.  "Oh, 
Dosey,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  count!" 

Dosia  fairly  pounced  on  the  opening.  Evi- 
dently her  experience  had  been  much  thought 
over,  and  was  ripe  to  deliver  to  an  understand- 
ing ear.  "You  ought  to  before  you  move  to  the 
city.  Our  first  winter  was  horrid.  Then  my 
Uncle  Charley  came  back  from  Alaska  and 
built  a  copy  of  the  Trianon  or  something  for 
himself  and  Aunt  Clara — she  ran  a  boarding- 
house  up  at  Nome  during  their  dark  ages,  and 
I  believe  he  wanted  to  express  that  nothing  was 
too  good  for  her.  It  was  then  that  I  began  to 
count.  People  were  crazy  to  get  into  the  Tria- 


94  THE  STAKLING 

non — and  not  to  stay  there,  but  because  it 
might  lead  somewhere  still  more  exciting,  and 
so  on  indefinitely.  I  could  let  them  in,  you  see." 

Sarah  stopped  short  in  the  center  of  a  street 
and  had  to  be  pulled  on  to  safety. 

"But  that  isn't  what  I  want  one  bit!"  she 
cried.  "It's  friends — friends !  Girls  I  can  talk 
intimately  with,  like  this — men  who  come  to 
the  house — young  married  women  who  take  me 
up  to  the  nursery — people,  Dosey,  people!" 

"Ah,  yes — the  boys  in  for  Sunday  night  sup- 
per— sing  college  songs  and  have  lemonade — " 
Dosia  was  amused.  "Go  back  to  the  village 
then,  my  dear ;  you  won't  find  that  in  cities.  In 
a  city  you  must  count  in  some  way;  otherwise 
you  only  know  people  like  yourself,  who  don't 
know  anybody  or  lead  anywhere." 

"No,  no,  no !"  Sarah  was  on  fire.  "You  are 
making  a  game  of  it,  with  people  for  counters 
— all  alike  but  for  their  place  on  the  board. 
There's  nothing  growing  about  that.  It's  sport 
instead  of  crops !" 

"But,  you  funny  child,  I  much  prefer  sport  to 
crops." 

"Not  to  live  on,  Dosey!  Why,  your  heart 
would  all  wither  up." 


THE  STARLING  95 

"Oh— heart!" 

"Yes,  you  have.  Look  how  you  always  stand 
by  other  women — how  you  worked  for  suf- 
frage and  on  the  hospital  board — oh,  I've  al- 
ways heard  of  you  as  doing  things  like  that. 
Why,  that  is  the  way  we  began — don't  you  re- 
member? You  went  out  of  your  way  to  stand 
by  me.  It  was  at  my  party." 

"Oh,  I  do  remember,  vaguely — wasn't  Bobby 
Russell  lording  it  over  you?"  The  picture 
amused  Dosia.  "I  probably  welcomed  the 
chance  to  sit  on  Bobby !  I'm  still  doing  it.  Do 
you  ever  see  him?" 

The  name  seemed  to  fill  the  earth  with  sweet- 
ness and  resonance. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Sarah  breathed.  "Oh,  don't  you 
think  he's  splendid?" 

Dosia  sent  a  measuring  look  up  into  the 
lighted  shadowy  face,  and  communication  was 
cut  as  though  the  hedge  had  risen  up  between 
them.  She  seemed  immeasurably  distant  and 
superior. 

"Oh,  to  look  at — stunning.  But  he  ought  not 
to  go  in  with  his  father;  that  is  stupid.  I  in- 
tend to  make  him  move  over  here  presently." 
She  stopped  and  put  out  her  hand.  "Now  I 


96  THE  STARLING 

must  jump  on  a  car.  I  have  a  luncheon  on, 
and  two  committee  meetings.  Nice  to  have 
seen  you.  Good-by!"  And  she  was  gone  be- 
fore Sarah  could  find  a  word. 

The  after  effect  of  that  brief  meeting  was  a 
curious  chill.  Dosia  had  not  said,  "Come  and 
see  me;"  perhaps  that  was  why  Sarah's  step 
would  drag  as  she  went  on  up  the  hill  alone. 
She  did  not  at  all  mind  Dosia's  philosophy, 
since  they  were  looking  for  such  different 
things:  Dosia  wanted  a  complex  social  order 
while  Sarah  wanted  only  friends  and,  some 
day,  a  lover.  Dosia  had  spoken  as  though  she 
owned  Robert  Russell,  but  Sarah  had  known 
that  there  must  be  many  other  girls  in  his 
life;  she  asserted  over  and  over  that  she  was 
not  so  silly  as  to  be  hurt  by  that. 

"Well,  I  had  a  girl  to  walk  with,  anyway," 
she  said  as  she  crossed  the  hotel  lobby  to  get 
her  key. 

Some  one  had  come  in  just  after  her,  a  tall, 
remarkably  thin  man,  whose  brown  mustache 
spread  out  in  a  vain  attempt  to  hide  the  creases 
in  his  lean  cheeks,  even  while  his  kind  little 
deep-set  eyes  smiled  over  the  futility  of  trying 
to  make  anything  appear  other  than  what  it 


THE  STARLING  97 

was.  He  held  a  familiar  package  under  his 
arm,  and  the  question  in  his  glance  was  changed 
to  a  lighted  certainty  as  Sarah  turned. 

"I  thought  so!"  he  said,  putting  out  his 
hand. 

The  surprise  was  fortunate,  for  he  caught  a 
gleam  of  the  real  Sarah  springing  out  to  meet 
him  as  he  never  would  have  done  if  she  had 
had  to  traverse  long  halls  after  hearing  him 
announced.  There  was  time  for  a  revealing, 
"Oh,  Mr.  Saxe !"  before  the  inevitable  panic  of 
shyness  closed  her  up  into  a  very  composed  and 
colorless  young  lady.  A  murmur  about  "most 
kind"  would  have  discouraged  a  less  discerning 
person. 

"I  want  a  talk  with  you.  Have  you  time? 
Can't  we  sit  down  here  somewhere?"  The  walls 
of  the  big  lobby  were  lined  with  velvet  couches, 
intended  for  knitting  ladies  listening  to  music, 
but  deserted  at  this  hour.  He  led  the  way  to 
an  isolated  corner,  and  Sarah  followed  very 
much  as  she  would  have  followed  to  the  oper- 
ating-room— pale,  polite  and  silent.  She  was 
spared  the  torture  of  preliminary  conversation ; 
even  when  they  were  seated  he  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  speak.  He  had  rested  an  elbow  on 


98  THE  STARLING 

the  back  of  the  couch,  that  he  might  face  her, 
and  Sarah,  outwardly  a  good  soldier,  inwardly 
a  shrinking,  shrieking  fugitive,  drove  herself 
to  meet  his  look. 

A  smile  was  growing  in  his  face,  spreading 
up  the  lean  creases,  radiating  out  from  the  lines 
about  his  eyes,  a  smile  that  had  the  quality  of 
an  amused  shout.  It  was  not  awestruck,  per- 
haps, but  it  held  no  ridicule,  and  above  all  it 
was  glad,  heartily,  generously  glad.  Sarah's 
panic  was  wiped  out  by  a  breathless  wonder  at 
what  was  coming. 

"Some  day,"  he  began  deliberately,  "I  hope 
to  stand  for  something  in  the  world — for  an 
inch  or  two  of  work  well  done.  But  my  real 
claim  to  glory  will  be  that  I  discovered  Sarah 
Cawthorne!" 

He  could  not  quite  mean  it  the  way  it 
sounded ;  there  was  too  much  amusement  in  it. 
Sarah  held  herself  very  still,  waiting. 

"You  asked  me  whether  I  agreed  with  your 
father  or  your  mother ;"  he  was  suddenly  seri- 
ous. "They  are  both  right;  but  your  mother's 
verdict  is  the  only  one  that  matters.  When 
your  father  said  'trash'  he  meant  that  it  was 
unreal,  that  it  couldn't  happen,  that  such  peo- 


THE  STARLING  99 

pie  and  such  a  relation  never  grew  on  land  or 
sea.  That  is  true." 

"But  why  couldn't  they  be  like  that?"  Sarah 
burst  in.  "They  only  need  love  and  gaiety 
enough.  I  believed  every  minute  of  it  1" 

"And  that  is  why  it  is  beautiful,  and  your 
mother  is  right,"  he  said  quickly.  "You  have 
written  a  fairy  tale,  believing  in  fairies — that 
isn't  the  way  literature  is  made,  but,  dear  Miss 
Cawthorne,  it  is  what  the  world  is  panting  for, 
tongue  out.  The  public  will  simply  lap  it  up!" 

Sarah  could  not  decide  whether  she  was  mor- 
tally hurt  or  gloriously  exalted.  For  all  her 
modesty,  she  had  had  glimpses  of  soaring  pos- 
sibilities, and  to  accept  success  on  this  lower 
plane  meant  a  moment  of  humiliation.  Perhaps 
he  recognized  this,  for  he  went  on  with  increas- 
ing earnestness : 

"And  it  is  so  splendidly  worth  doing.  You 
will  give  pleasure  and  rest  and  diversion  to 
tired  and  troubled  people  all  over  the  land. 
Why,  take  a  battered,  unillusioned  old  news- 
paper hack  like  me;"  his  smile  begged  her  to 
believe  in  the  reality  of  the  comfort  he  offered. 
"I  happened  to  be  at  the  club  when  it  came,  and 
I  took  it  home  with  me,  meaning  to  read  it  in 


100  THE  STARLING 

a  day  or  two,  for  I  was  dog  tired;  but  after 
a  first  glance  I  didn't  put  it  down  until  it  was 
finished.  And  I  came  out  of  it  warmed  and 
stirred,  and  wishing  to  heaven  that  I  had  a 
daughter  like  that!"  They  laughed  together, 
and  the  comfort  began  to  glow  through  Sarah's 
chilled  being.  After  all,  that  was  good  enough 
for  her  to  do!  "You  will  make  people  believe 
in  your  visions  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  per- 
haps-that  will  leave  them  just  a  little  warmer 
and  kinder,"  he  concluded.  "Isn't  that  worth 
doing?" 

"Oh,  yes.    Oh,  if  I  could !" 

"Now  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  indicating 
some  changes."  He  moved  nearer  to  her,  open- 
ing the  package  on  his  knee.  "It  doesn't  need 
rewriting — your  sentences  are  always  alive  and 
charming;  but  in  places  the  material  could  be 
handled  better.  May  I  show  you  what  I  mean?" 

He  must  have  spent  hours  over  the  text,  and 
the  result  was  for  Sarah  a  priceless  lesson  in 
construction.  His  points  were  luminous  for 
her;  she  seemed  to  leap  forward  in  knowledge 
of  her  trade.  Her  eager  understanding  finally 
made  him  cry  out  in  protest. 


THE  STARLING  101 

"It  won't  do — you  mustn't  be  so  frightfully 
clever!  First  thing  you  know,  you  will  learn 
too  much  and  spoil  your  fairy  tales."  He  closed 
the  manuscript  with  a  slap.  "Your  whole  fu- 
ture lies  in  keeping  your  dreams  intact.  Go 
back  inside  your  hedge,  little  girl — keep  away 
from  real  life  as  you'd  avoid  smallpox." 

"Ah,  but  I  don't  want  to,"  Sarah  exclaimed. 
"If  I  gave  up  longing  for  real  life — life  and 
people — why,  I  should  be  so  desolate,  I  couldn't 
even  dream." 

"Oh,  long  for  them — that  is  all  right — long- 
ing is  the  mother  of  the  fairy  tale ;  but  the  good 
God  keep  you  from  finding  them!"  Then  he 
happened  to  see  a  clock,  and  started  to  his 
feet.  "I  must  run.  May  I  look  at  it  again 
when  you  have  worked  it  over?  Will  you  send 
me  word  and  let  me  come  to  see  you?" 

"But  it  is  so  far  for  you.    I  could  come — " 

"No,  no — let  me  get  inside  that  wonderful 
hedge  again  before  I  die  of  noise !"  He  had  her 
hand,  and,  seeing  how  ablaze  he  had  set  her, 
he  laughed  a  little,  giving  it  another  shake. 
"Oh,  your  dreams  are  safe  enough  for  a  while 
yet,"  he  admitted.  "Let  me  come  soon.  We 


102  THE  STARLING 

want  to  get  Dickery  Dock  into  the  early  spring 
list  of  new  publications,  don't  we?" 

"Oh,  I  do  thank  you!"  Sarah  said  from  her 
big  heart. 

She  told  her  mother  all  about  it,  sitting  on 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and  so  brimming  with  good 
spirits  that  Mrs.  Cawthorne  presently  got  up 
and  dressed  and  announced  an  appetite.  She 
could  always  be  raised  or  prostrated  by  the 
family  mood.  She  was  inclined  to  resent  Mr. 
Saxe's  criticisms  on  the  inspired  text. 

"He  hasn't  proved  that  he  can  write  so  much 
better  himself,"  she  declared,  ruffling  like  a 
mother  hen. 

"Oh,  he  knows !"  Sarah  sang.  "Let  us  hurry 
home,  mother;  I  want  to  get  to  work!" 

Mr.  Cawthorne,  for  the  moment,  had  been 
almost  forgotten;  but  as  they  neared  home  his 
shadow  grew  longer  and  longer,  until  it  had 
quite  swallowed  up  his  wife. 

"I  really  did  say  dreadful  things  to  him, 
Bunny,"  she  confessed.  "Why,  I  never  flew 
at  him  so  in  my  life.  He  hadn't  a  chance  to  say 
a  word  back.  That  poor  old  man — he  must 
have  been  so  astonished.  I  don't  know  what 
he  will  say  now." 


THE  STARLING  103 

Sarah's  heart  was  stout  enough  for  anything 
with  Dickery  Dock  pressed  against  it. 

"Well,  he  has  won,"  she  said  blithely.  "Here 
we  are,  trailing  home  again.  He  can  afford  to 
be  generous  this  time." 

"I  hope  he  will  think  of  that."  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne's  sigh  was  dubious.  "You  know,  Bun- 
ny," she  went  on  presently,  "there  are  very  few 
men  as  generous  as  your  father  about  money. 
He  never  has  cared  about  it  in  the  least.  I 
didn't  want  him  to  make  over  so  much  to  me 
when  we  married,  and  I  remember  so  well  the 
way  he  answered:  'It  will  spare  us  ever  hav- 
ing to  t-t-talk  about  the  d-damn  thing/  "  There 
was  a  spark  of  laughter,  quickly  extinguished. 
"I  have  never  used  it  to  go  against  him  before ; 
and  that  was  one  reason  why  I  couldn't  go 
on.  It  seemed  too  contemptible !  But  you  want 
to  remember  that  about  your  father,  dear. 
With  some  men,  it's  'What  did  you  do  with  the 
seventy-five  cents  I  gave  you  a  week  ago 
Friday?'  I  don't  see  how  their  wives  bear 
it." 

Sarah  privately  thought  that  if  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne  had  earned  his  comfortable  property 
instead  of  inheriting  it,  he  might  have  been  less 


104  THE  STARLING 

indifferent,  but  her  mother  was  bent  on  piling 
up  his  excellences,  and  she  offered  no  resist- 
ance. Before  the  gap  in  the  hedge  was  passed 
Mrs.  Cawthorne  had  recalled  a  score  of  lovable 
traits  and  acts,  laying  them  like  faggots  on  a 
wavering  blaze  that  was  to  see  her  through  a 
dark  night.  Her  white  dread  as  they  mounted 
the  steps  shook  Sarah's  sensitive  body,  in  spite 
of  her  mind's  superior  stand.  She  longed  to 
saunter  in  indifferently,  and  the  consciousness 
of  their  scared  and  abject  entrance  filled  her 
with  wrathful  mortification. 

"Coming  back  is  rather  flat,  and  we  can't 
play  it  isn't,"  she  admitted;  "but,  anyway,  I 
have  Dickery  Dock!" 

The  library  door  was  shut,  and  the  sounds  of 
their  entrance  and  Nelly's  greeting  did  not 
open  it.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  walked  herself  up  to 
the  knob,  then  enacted  a  change  of  mind  based 
on  wiser  second  thoughts. 

"After  all,  dinner  time  will  be  soon  enough," 
she  murmured,  and  slipped  up  the  stairs  as 
though  pursued. 

Sarah  let  her  escape,  then  tapped  on  the 
door  and  opened  it.  There  was  a  grim  pleas- 
ure in  defying  her  own  reluctant  spirit;  it 


THE  STARLING  105 

gave  her  the  level  look  of  a  rider  who  conquers 
an  unruly  steed. 

"We're  back,  father,"  she  began. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  lifted  the  reluctant  eyes  of 
an  aloof  and  patient  scholar  whose  family  was 
growing  wearisomely  intrusive. 

"So  I  see,"  he  observed.  "But  wouldn't  the 
good  news  have  kept  till  dinner  time?  I  hap- 
pen to  be  very  busy." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  flush,  almost  impos- 
sible not  to  apologize  and  back  out.  Sarah, 
realizing  that  she  had  nearly  been  thrown, 
tightened  her  rein  and  her  caution. 

"I  am  sorry  to  interrupt,"  she  said  with 
grave  courtesy,  "but  I  have  to  say  two  things. 
One  is  that  mother  has  given  up  going  to  the 
city  for  the  winter.  She  wants  to,  but  she  finds 
that  leaving  you  alone  worries  her  more  than  it 
is  worth."  There  was  not  a  flicker  of  change 
in  Mr.  Cawthorne's  face,  but  Sarah  believed 
that  she  saw  his  body  relax,  as  though  he  sat 
more  easily  in  his  chair.  Her  curiosity  sud- 
denly sprang  out  in  a  question,  as  startling  to 
herself  as  it  was  to  him:  "Are  you  glad  or 
sorry?"  she  asked. 

At  first  he  obviously  had  no  intention  of  an- 


106  THE  STARLING 

swering.  "Then  the  straight  honesty  of  it,  or 
her  cool  wait,  had  its  effect.  His  eyes  showed  a 
gleam  of  their  habitual  amusement. 

"I  don't  like  changes,"  he  drawled.  "And 
your  mother  is  not  a  disturbing  person  to  have 
about.  At  least,  not  usually."  He  remembered 
yesterday  and  the  smile  vanished.  "And  now 
number  two?"  he  suggested,  dipping  his  pen. 

Two  was  harder;  Sarah  rode  at  it  with  a 
rush. 

"She  is  not  going  to  give  up  young  Doctor 
Russell.  She — and  I — won't  stand  that." 

The  pen  descended  on  the  sheet.  "Well,  keep 
him  out  of  here,  then,"  he  said  indifferently, 
and  Sarah  found  herself  on  the  other  side  of 
the  door,  dismounting  with  shaking  knees  and 
very  short  of  breath. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  came  out  at  dinner  time, 
seemingly  unaware  that  a  revolt  had  begun  and 
ended,  and  Mrs.  Cawthorne  was  happy  to  be  let 
off  on  any  basis,  but  Sarah  found  his  imper- 
turbability hard  to  bear.  Though  the  revolt  had 
collapsed,  he  had  met  with  a  serious  reverse 
himself,  and  it  was  unfair  to  act  impregnable! 
She  wished  that  her  mother  would  not  reveal 
so  openly  the  completeness  of  her  surrender; 


THE  STARLING  107 

but  Mrs.  Cawthorne  knew  nothing  of  making 
terms.  She  had  hurt  her  poor  old  man  and 
was  not  being  punished  for  it,  and  she  could 
only  brim  over  with  gaiety  until  she  brought 
on  a  headache  of  sheer  happiness  and  had  to  go 
to  bed.  As  she  passed  her  husband's  chair,  she 
put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  kissed  his 
cheek.  He  appeared  unaware  of  the  little  act, 
offering  no  least  response,  and  yet  her  happy 
brightness  was  undimmed.  Sarah,  looking  on, 
had  a  startled  conviction  of  ignorance. 

"I  have  been  living  with  them  all  my  life, 
and  mother  tells  me  everything — and  yet  per- 
haps I  don't  know  how  it  really  is  between 
them,"  she  thought  it  out. 

Doctor  Robert,  not  dreaming  how  he  had 
been  fought  and  bled  for,  dropped  in  that  even- 
ing, unprofessionally. 

"I  would  have  called  up  to  ask  if  I  might, 
but  you  don't  seem  to  have  a  telephone,"  he 
apologized;  but  he  had  come  down  the  long 
room  with  no  visible  doubt  of  his  being  wel- 
come. 

All  the  Cawthorne  rooms  were  huge,  ponder- 
ous with  old  furniture,  and  Sarah,  rising 
against  the  firelight,  had  made  a  slim  and  girl- 


108  THE  STARLING 

ish  silhouette.  The  lamp  at  her  elbow  left  the 
greater  part  of  the  room  in  shadow,  and  he 
was  close  to  her  before  he  could  see  her  lifted 
face.  "A  great  deal  happens  to  me!"  it  was 
saying,  and  though  he  could  not  read  the  words, 
Robert  basked  in  their  light.  Dickory  Dock 
had  lain  in  her  lap,  and  she  let  it  drop  back 
there,  thrilled  with  the  hope  that  he  would  ask 
about  it. 

"My  mother  has  gone  to  bed,"  she  said.  "We 
have  been  having  adventures,  Robert — we  tried 
to  take  your  prescription.  We  actually  went  to 
the  city  and  hunted  apartments." 

"That's  one  thing  I  came  in  about;"  Robert 
had  brought  addresses,  but  she  would  not  look 
at  them. 

"It  is  perfectly  clear  and  simple  from  the 
outside — we  want  to  go,  and  ought  to  go ;  but  if 
you  were  on  the  inside,  you  would  see  that  we 
can't,"  she  explained. 

Robert  settled  back  in  his  chair,  took  a  pur- 
ple silk  ankle  into  an  easy  clasp  and  smiled  at 
her  with  royal  indulgence. 

"There  is  no  such  word  as  'can't'  to  your 
doctor,"  he  said  with  the  disciplinary  nod  that 
Sarah  loved.  It  did  something  inexplicable  and 


THE  STARLING  109 

quite  delicious  to  her,  so  that  she  hated  to  keep 
on  arguing;  though  in  this  case  she  really 
had  to. 

"But,  no  matter  how  much  you  tell  your 
doctor,  he  is  still  on  the  outside,"  she  pleaded. 
"You  can't  get  everything  over  to  him.  Why, 
Robert,  you  would  have  to  come  and  live  in 
this  family  for  twenty  years  to  understand  ex- 
actly why  we  can't  do  the  simple  wise  thing 
of  walking  out." 

"Why  you  think  you  can't,"  he  corrected 
her.  "If  I  came  and  lived  in  this  family" — 
he  paused  to  smile  to  himself  oyej^ome  idea — 
"I  stake  my  professional  reputation  that  in  six 
months  the  hedge  would  be  down,  you'd  have  a 
telephone  and  a  car  and  a  dog,  your  mother 
would  be  a  fairly  well  woman,  and  your  father 
would  be — waking  up.  I'd  take  you  in  hand!" 

It  was  misery  not  to  yield  to  his  splendid 
sureness.  Every  bit  of  her  being  longed  to, 
except  her  intractable  brain,  which  hurt  and 
mortified  her  by  knowing  better. 

"We  are  so  tied  together,"  she  said  apolo- 
getically. "Tied  by  feelings  we  hardly  know 
ourselves.  I  think  I  could  learn  to  telephone, 
quite  happily,  in  my  father's  house,  but  my  poor 


110  THE  STARLING 

little  mother  couldn't.  And  feelings  are  as 
vital  as  spines,  aren't  they?" 

Only  at  a  bedside  did  Robert  really  listen. 
He  gave  his  outer  ears  courteously  enough,  not 
his  attention. 

"Now  I  will  tell  you  about  a  case  I  had, 
where  the  lady  thought  she  couldn't,"  he  be- 
gan, settling  down  into  deeper  comfort.  Sarah 
was  a  magic  listener;  her  very  soul  seemed  to 
come  out  to  hear.  Under  the  stimulus  of  her 
shining  response,  Robert  went  on  and  on.  He 
had  been  entirely  right  in  every  case,  and 
Sarah,  rejoicing,  piled  up  in  her  memory  the 
list  of  his  triumphs,  as  though  she  might  need 
it  to  confound  some  future  critic.  They  had 
both  had  a  beautiful  time  when  at  last  he  rose. 
He  had  not  noticed  Diokery  Dock,  but  that 
could  wait. 

"A  man  has  called  on  me!"  Sarah  told  her- 
self, with  a  leap  of  the  blood.  "And  it  was 
Robert!"  The  thought  gleamed  through  her 
pretty  composure,  and  Robert  lingered,  resting 
an  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece  and  smiling  at  her 
very  contentedly. 

"I  am  not  strong  for  the  hedge,"  he  said, 
"and  yet,  by  George,  Sarah,  it  has  given  you 


THE  STARLING  111 

something  that  the  modern  girl  hasn't  got. 
You  are  more  of  a  lady,  if  you  know  what  I 
mean." 

"More  of  a  stick!"  said  Sarah,  with  a  laugh 
of  forgiveness  in  case  he  should  remember ;  but 
the  word  said  nothing  to  Robert.  "I  met  Dosia 
Warren  in  the  city,  and  oh,  she  was  so  grown 
up  and  finished  and  sure  of  her  way!  She 
made  me  feel  like  a  blundering  little  girl.  I 
hate  my  hedge  qualities,  Robert." 

The  mention  of  Dosia's  name  brought  a 
faintly  uneasy  frown.  An  elephant  is  said  to 
fear  a  mouse.  Robert  was  not  diminished,  but 
he  was  bothered. 

"Dosey  Warren  does  think  she  knows  it  all," 
he  said,  just  as  he  had  a  dozen  years  before. 
"She's  a  clever  girl,  and  I  like  her,  but  you 
can't  teach  her  anything.  She  even  wants  to 
tell  me  how  to  be  a  doctor!"  He  drew  up  one 
shoulder,  then  the  other,  in  subtle  comment. 
"She  has  got  all  the  modern  patter  about  wom- 
an's place  in  the  sun.  Doctors  have  to  hear  a 
Jot  of  that,  but  if  girls  only  realized  how  it  im- 
presses us,  they  would  drop  it,  I  can  tell  you." 

"But  things  are  changing  for  women;" 
Sarah  spoke  with  reluctant  honesty.  "I  read 


112  THE  STARLING 

books  about  it,  Robert,  and — and  I  believe  in  it. 
I  can't  help  it." 

"Read  all  you  like;"  he  was  benignant.  "It 
won't  hurt  you.  You  are  what  I  call  womanly, 
if  you  know  what  I  mean.  It  pleases  me." 

Sarah's  joy  missed  a  beat,  but  she  was  too 
loyal  to  the  dream-Robert  to  acknowledge  it. 

"We  are  going  to  be  friends,"  she  said  gladly, 
and  then,  with  her  hand  in  his,  a  strange  thing 
happened :  she  seemed  to  be  swept  by  a  mighty 
wind  that  isolated  them  together,  rushing  about 
them  like  a  living  wall,  and  through  its  confu- 
sion to  hear  a  voice  saying  that  they  would 
be  far  more  than  friends.  It  was  over  in  an 
instant,  and  she  had  drawn  away  her  hand  be- 
fore Robert  could  have  known  that  it  trem- 
bled. He  had  not  spoken ;  he  had  only  looked  at 
her  with  a  blind  fixity. 

"And  so  we  are  not  going  to  the  city;  but 
you  must  do  what  you  can  for  my  mother  here," 
Sarah  concluded,  as  though  they  had  never  left 
the  topic. 

"It  doesn't  give  me  a  proper  chance,"  Robert 
objected.  They  were  walking  slowly  down  the 
room  together.  "Perhaps,  if  I  had  another  talk 
with  Mr.  Cawthorne —  " 


THE  STARLING  113 

She  almost  clutched  him.  There  was  no 
laughter  in  her  fright. 

"Oh,  Robert,  you  must  let  him  alone !  Talk- 
ing with  him  only  makes  things  worse.  And 
you  must  leave  your  car  outside,  as  your  father 
does.  I  agreed  to  that !" 

He  might  have  seen  how  he  had  been  battled 
for  if  he  had  not  been  so  concerned  with  his 
own  professional  dignity.  "Under  the  circum- 
stances, I  think  I  must  give  up  the  case,"  he 
said  stiffly. 

"Oh,  no!  Please,  no!"  The  very  gap  in 
the  hedge  seemed  to  be  closing,  and  she  cried 
out,  forgetting  for  once  in  her  life  the  library 
door  across  the  hall.  Her  uplifted  face  showed 
all  her  distress,  as  candidly  as  it  might  have  a 
dozen  years  ago,  when  it  slipped  like  a  young 
crescent  moon  between  two  long  falls  of  dark 
hair.  "You  have  helped  her  already — you  can't 
give  her  up  now,"  she  cried,  her  palms  pressed 
tightly  together  against  her  dropping  chest. 
"Ah,  come  in  often  and  see  her,  talk  to  her, 
find  little  ways  to  help  her.  We  do  believe  in 
your  advice,  Robert.  It  is  only  that  our  lives 
are  swallowed  whole,  and  we  are  helpless.", 

His  dignity  had  melted,  leaving  him  very 


114  THE  STARLING 

kind.  "I  only  want  to  rescue  you,"  he  said. 
"And  I  mean  to.  I  will  go  slowly  if  you  say  so. 
But  I  do  hate  an  egotist!  We  doctors  have  to 
get  the  better  of  most  of  our  prejudices,  but  an 
egotist  rouses  the  old  Adam  in  me.  It's  an 
idiosyncrasy,  I  suppose.  I  can  overlook  worse 
things — that's  the  funny  part  of  it.  Of  course, 
we  see  the  cranky  side  of  human  nature — that's 
all  right,  we  expect  to.  But  when  I  meet  a  man 
who's  got  an  overdose  of  ego  in  his  cosmos  and 
doesn't  know  it —  What  is  it?  Sarah,  what  is 
the  matter?" 

She  had  shrunk  back,  as  though  from  him, 
but,  following  her  eyes,  he  saw  that  the  door 
across  the  hall  stood  open.  The  room  might 
have  been  empty;  from  where  they  stood,  they 
could  see  no  one;  yet  the  door  seemed  to  stir, 
as  though  it  had  only  just  settled  back. 

"Well,  good  night!"  Sarah  urged.  Robert, 
however,  feared  no  man,  and  took  a  deliberate 
leave. 

"A  little  straight  truth  won't  hurt  him,"  he 
murmured.  "But  if  he  is  likely  to  make  it  un- 
pleasant— " 

"Oh,  no — just  go,"  Sarah  breathed,  and  shut 
him  out. 


THE  STARLING  115 

She  tried  to  walk  past  the  open  door  as 
though  it  were  not  concerned  with  her,  but  a 
sound  within  startled  her  into  a  look.  Mr. 
Cawthorne  stood  under  the  chandelier,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  thrown  back, 
shaken  with  chuckling  laughter.  His  half  closed 
eyes  seemed  to  be  sending  their  mockery  down 
his  pointed  beard  at  her  as  the  crossed  finger 
sweeps  the  pointing  finger  in  a  child's  gesture 
of  derision.  In  her  astonishment,  Sarah  stopped 
short,  but  the  little  laughs  bubbling  up  through 
him  almost  prevented  speech. 

"Sarah,  I  t-take  it  all  back,"  he  stammered. 
"That  young  man  is  going  to  be  the  j-j-joy  of 
my  life.  Have  him  in  often!" 

Sarah  went  swiftly  on  without  answering. 
She  had  learned  to  resist  his  wrath,  but  she 
had  no  way  of  meeting  his  laughter.  She  could 
only  hide  from  him  her  passion  of  anger. 


VI 


SARAH  worked  so  hard  over  her  manuscript 
that  in  two  weeks  the  revised  Dickery 
Dock  was  ready  for  inspection;  and  then  she 
had  to  face  the  trouble  that  had  been  hanging 
over  her  ever  since  that  inspired  hour  with 
Christopher  Saxe.  She  ought  to  ask  him  to 
dinner;  it  was  not  decent  to  let  him  come  so 
far  and  not  give  him  dinner;  and  how  could 
any  mortal  understand  that  a  girl  who  lived  in 
a  comfortable,  well  served  home  nevertheless 
could  not  ask  him  to  dinner? 

Suppose  she  did  ask  him  and  coolly  told  her 
father  that  he  was  coming — Sarah  felt  herself 
gallantly  equal  to  that.  The  problem  was,  how 
could  the  meal  be  made  anything  but  an  ordeal? 
Mr.  Cawthorne  might  not  actively  object  to 
Mr.  Saxe,  but  he  would  feel  that  his  hedge  was 
being  attacked,  and  he  would  take  measures  to 
make  every  one  so  wretched  that  it  could  not 
occur  again. 

His  methods  were  diabolically  clever.  When 
Robert  was  in  the  house  now,  comfortably  hold- 
ing forth  to  two  contented  women  who  loved  to 
116 


THE  STARLING  117 

hear  him,  Mr.  Cawthorne  would  sometimes  ap- 
pear in  the  doorway  and  stand  listening,  his 
pointed  beard  tipped  out,  under  his  dropped 
lids  an  ecstasy  of  silent  enjoyment.  Robert 
never  saw  him,  but  Sarah's  flush  did  not  fade 
until  long  after  the  little  gray  man  had  gone. 
Secretly  defying  him,  hating  him,  even,  could 
not  prevent  his  blighting  the  bright  world  and 
for  the  moment  cleaving  the  Robert  before  her 
from  the  Robert  of  her  daily  dream.  What 
would  he  do  to  Mr.  Saxe? 

She  talked  it  over  with  her  mother,  who  at 
first  was  very  martial  on  the  side  of  Sarah's 
rights,  but  presently  dropped  to  a  weak  sug- 
gestion of  tea — "Perhaps  it  really  would  be 
more  sensible,  dear!" 

"But,  mother,  just  look  at  it  from  the  out- 
side! It  is  silly,  it's  grotesque.  This  man  is 
taking  a  lot  of  trouble  to  help  me,  and  the  most 
ordinary  little  courtesy  in  return — I  won't  give 
in  like  that !  I  will  not !"  Sarah  did  not  often 
reveal  herself  so  hotly,  and  Mrs.  Cawthorne 
yielded  at  once. 

"Write  him,  dear,  for  any  night  you  please, 
and  say  that  I  urge  his  coming."  She  could  go 
further.  "Do  you  want  me  to  tell — ?" 


118  THE  STARLING 

Sarah  kissed  her  and  even  laughed,  a  for- 
lorn little  laugh,  her  mother  looked  so  solemnly 
prepared  for  the  worst. 

"Let  us  not  take  it  so  hard,"  she  urged.  "My 
friend  is  coming  to  dinner — that  is  all.  Noth- 
ing very  dreadful  can  happen.  I  will  tell  father 
when  I  hear  from  Mr.  Saxe."  And  she  went  to 
write  her  note,  humming  to  show  how  unmo- 
mentous  it  all  was. 

She  asked  him  to  come  in  the  late  afternoon 
to  see  the  revised  manuscript  and  "stay  to  din- 
ner," as  that  seemed  to  make  the  meal  less 
formidable,  and  he  accepted  in  happy  uncon- 
sciousness. Sarah  left  her  father  in  peace  un- 
til only  a  few  hours  separated  him  from  this 
new  rebellion.  She  even  let  him  finish  his 
lunch,  though  the  suspense  made  eating  physi- 
cally impossible  to  her,  and  had  driven  her 
mother  from  the  room. 

"Father,  Mr.  Saxe  is  coming  to  dinner,"  she 
said  casually  as  he  was  turning  from  the  table. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  stood  in  his  tracks  for  a  long 
moment  before  he  spoke. 

"And  who  the  deuce  is  Mr.  Saxe?"  he 
drawled. 

"He  interviewed  you  once  on  the  subject  of 


THE  STARLING  119 

vocational  education.  We  have  become  friends, 
and  he  is  helping  me  with  my  writing." 
Sarah's  fingers  played  careless  scales  on  a  chair 
back  as  she  stood  confronting  him.  "He  is  com- 
ing over  from  the  city  to  work  with  me  this 
afternoon,  so  it  seemed  only  decent  to  ask  him 
to  stay  to  dinner." 

She  thought  perhaps  he  meant  to  try  her  out 
with  silence,  his  pause  lasted  so  long,  so  she 
folded  her  arms  and  gave  him  back  his  look. 
"Remember — remember  that  your  mind  isn't 
afraid!"  she  was  crying  out  under  her  grave 
composure. 

"You  know  something  about  him,  of  course 
— and  his  antecedents?"  Mr.  Cawthorne  began. 

"Nothing  whatever,  except  that  he  seems  to 
me  one  of  the  nicest  men  I  have  ever  met." 

"Almost  on  a  par  with  young  Russell?"  The 
lurking  smile  was  a  further  test,  but  she  met  it 
triumphantly. 

"They  are  both  gentlemen,"  she  said  quietly. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  turned  away  again.  "Well, 
if  he  is  as  entertaining  as  my  dear  friend  Rob- 
ert, I  shall  welcome  him,"  he  said.  "Couldn't 
you  get  R-R-Robert  to  come,  too?" 

Sarah  made  no  answer,  and,  glancing  back 


120  THE  STARLING 

from  the  doorway,  he  must  have  seen  how 
white  and  rigid  she  was.  His  tone  was  suddenly 
indulgent. 

"Ah,  Sarah,  if  you  had  a  sense  of  humor, 
you'd  be  a  good  deal  more  of  a  comfort  to  me," 
he  sighed.  "Even  your  mother  has  got  it — I 
don't  see  how  you  escaped.  Without  that  you 
really  can't  appreciate  me." 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't;"  Sarah  was  politely 
regretful. 

"I  g-gathered  that  from  your  book."  The 
memory  of  it  put  a  gleam  behind  his  glasses. 
"You  pictured  there  your  ideal,  I  take  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  may  be  wrong;  but  I  strongly  sus- 
pect that  if  a  parent  such  as  you  have  drawn 
could  take  off  his  bright  wings  and  come  to  you 
on  earth,  in  about  one  week  you'd  be  shouting 
for  the  disagreeable  old  crank  Cawthorne  to 
take  you  back.  He'd  wear  you  out  with  his  in- 
fernal gladness.  Nothing  in  it,  Sairy — take 
my  word  for  it,  nothing  in  it." 

He  limped  away,  and  Sarah,  dropping  her 
face  on  her  forearms,  let  the  rare  tears  come. 
He  stripped  all  the  beauty  from  her  world  and 
gave  her  nothing  to  go  on  with,  he  was  heart- 


THE  STARLING  121 

less,  he  was  every  bad  word  that  she  knew,  and 
yet  she  was  no  longer  angry.  The  charm  he 
had  for  her  had  disarmed  her,  and  her  heart 
was  crying,  "Oh,  why  can't  we  love  each  other, 
why  can't  we  make  each  other  happy?"  Sarah 
did  not  know  how  to  love  unless  she  could*  put 
out  her  arms. 

How  any  physique  could  have  stood  the  daily 
strain  of  Sarah's  emotions  would  have  been  a 
mystery  to  one  clever  enough  to  see  past  her 
composure.  All  her  developed  self-control  went 
to  hiding  them;  she  never  dreamed  of  trying 
to  live  at  a  lower  tension.  The  inside  history 
of  the  three  hours  that  preceded  Mr.  Saxe's 
coming  would  be  credible  only  to  another  such 
girl.  First  the  glory,  the  wild  and  secret  sing- 
ing; then  the  fear,  fear  of  failing  and  disap- 
pointing him,  the  tortured  memory  of  all  the 
moments  when  she  had  been  helpless  and  in- 
adequate before  some  chance  at  life  and  so  had 
seen  it  slip  past  as  the  motors  slipped  past 
the  gap  in  the  hedge;  then  the  two  feelings 
mixed,  spurts  of  joy,  stabs  of  fear,  till  the  ex- 
hausted spirit  settled  down  into  cold  bleak 
gloom,  and  an  intelligent,  highly  educated 
young  woman  was  longing  to  be  taken  seriously 


122  THE  STARLING 

ill,  that  she  might  escape  the  ordeal  of  greeting 
a  visitor  with  whom  she  was  not  even  in  love. 

"It  really  would  be  easier  to  die  than  it  is  to 
be  me,"  she  murmured,  a  hand  at  her  trembling 
jaw,  while  Nelly  was  coming  up  with  the  card. 
Then,  good  soldier  that  she  was,  she  walked 
down-stairs  like  any  graceful  young  lady,  pre- 
pared to  make  a  very  trite  remark  to  the  effect 
that  it  was  good  of  him  to  come. 

Mr.  Saxe  gave  her  no  chance  for  formalities. 
He  stood  watching  for  her,  eyes  alight  with 
mischief,  his  silence  so  full  of  suspended  laugh- 
ter that  the  greeting  was  left  out  altogether. 

"I  don't  believe  you  will  let  me  stay  when  you 
hear  what  I  have  just  done,"  he  began.  "I  had 
to  do  it — there  was  no  choice.  But  you  are 
going  to  hate  me."  He  gave  her  a  fair  chance 
to  withdraw  her  favor,  but  for  the  moment 
she  did  not  even  remember  to  withdraw  her 
hand,  she  was  so  happy  and  so  relieved.  If 
people  could  always  bring  an  excitement  to 
bridge  the  meeting! 

"Since  you  are  really  sorry — "  she  suggested. 

"That  is  the  worst  of  it — I'm  not!  I  have 
saved  your  hedge." 

"Saved  the  hedge?" 


THE  STARLING  123 

"With  my  two  feet  I  stamped  out  the  busi- 
est little  fire  you  ever  saw,  in  a  patch  of  dead 
grass.  Somebody's  cigarette,  I  suppose.  It 
was  low  and  quiet,  and  it  was  streaking  for 
that  big,  dry,  fat,  cypress  wall.  The  wind  was 
exactly  right,  and  there  was  not  a  human  being 
in  sight.  Now  I  ask  you,  man  to  man,  what 
would  you  have  done  yourself?" 

She  tried  to  think  that  she  would  have  been 
lawless,  but  gave  it  up  with  a  little  cry  of 
laughter. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  It  is  too  hard.  Why 
didn't  you  come  another  way?" 

"There  wasn't  any  other ;  it  was  right  by  the 
entrance.  And,  someway,  it  isn't  in  a  man  to 
leave  a  fire  when  he  can  stamp  it  out.  I  knew 
I  was  trampling  on  your  heart's  desire,  but  I 
had  to  act,  Sarah  Cawthorne.  Can  you  forgive 
me?" 

She  played  that  it  was  very  hard.  "Oh,  well, 
I  dare  say  the  gardener  would  have  put  it  out 
with  the  hose,"  she  said  on  a  descending  sigh. 
"Come  and  show  me  the  place." 

She  threw  on  a  cloak  and  they  ran  out  into  the 
chilly  dusk  and  down  the  drive.  Just  outside 
there  was  a  strip  of  blackened  grass,  running 


124  THE  STARLING 

almost  under  the  edge  of  the  hated  barrier. 
The  hedge  loomed  over  them,  untouched,  three 
times  their  height  and  five  feet  thick,  more  like 
compressed  green  essence  of  tree  than  like 
individual  trees.  No  branch  showed,  no  twig 
slipped  out  to  stir  by  itself.  Secret  passages 
might  have  wound  through  its  dense  sides  un- 
detected. The  dryness  that,  following  the  first 
rains,  had  left  the  grass  inflammable,  had 
grayed  its  rich  green  with  a  film  of  dust,  and 
spiders  had  sheeted  it  from  top  to  bottom. 
Over  the  narrow  entrance  the  two  giant  euca- 
lyptus trees  squared  naked  elbows,  from  which 
long  tatters  of  bark  flapped  in  the  wind. 
Sarah's  voice  lost  its  laughter. 

"Ah,  it  would  have  been  left  wide  open,"  she 
said. 

"But  a  telephone  wire  can  get  over  it;  and 
there  you  have  the  whole  world  within  reach." 

"No,  it  can't.  We  have  no  telephone."  The 
admission  always  cost  her  a  blush.  She  was 
childishly  ashamed  of  it. 

"No  telephone — oh,  bliss!" 

He  was  smiling,  teasing  her,  yet  he  meant 
it.  Robert  knew  better.  She  heard  him  de- 
nouncing the  abominable  barrier  with  his  fear- 


THE  STARLING  125 

less  certainty,  and  her  heart  gave  a  leap  for 
the  young  splendor  of  him,  and  for  the  shining 
mist  of  possibilities  that  lay  along  her  horizon. 
Truly,  a  great  deal  happened  to  Sarah! 

"I  will  tell  you  before  I  cut  it  down  because 
I  promised  I  would,"  she  said;  "but  nothing 
you  say  will  make  any  difference.  I  know  what 
I  want." 

"There  is»  a  gap,"  he  ventured.  "One  can  at 
least  walk  out." 

"No.  When  I  leave  my  poor  little  mother, 
even  for  a  few  hours,  something  always  hap- 
pens to  her."  She  looked  up  smiling,  lighted. 
"We  are  a  queer  family,  Mr.  Saxe !" 

He  spoke  as  simply  as  though  it  were  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  say:  "You 
seem  to  me  a  very  lovely  person." 

She  wished  she  were.  To  be  "lovely,"  the 
way  he  said  it,  sounded  infinitely  desirable. 
"Ah,  you  don't  know  me,"  she  sighed. 

"Oh,  don't  I!  Reading  Dickery  Dock  has 
been  like  spending  a  year  in  the  country  with 
you.  You  don't  dream  how  intimate  my  side 
of  our  acquaintance  is.  I  have  to  keep  remind- 
ing myself  that  you  have  no  such  key  to  me, 
and  that  you  must  look  on  me  as  a  stranger. 


126  THE  STARLING 

It  is  very  hard  to  wait  while  you  catch  up, 
Sarah  Cawthorne!" 

She  did  like  him !  She  needed  no  book  writ- 
ten by  him  to  tell  her  that  he  was  all  she  longed 
for  in  a  friend. 

"I  am  not  as  far  behind  as  you  think,"  she 
said  with  a  reserved  little  smile,  turning  back 
to  the  house. 

They  went  in  to  the  fire  and  a  happy  hour 
over  the  book.  Mr.  Saxe  approved  the  changes 
and  insisted  that  he  should  attend  to  its  pub- 
lication. 

"I  am  getting  out  a  book  myself,  so  I  know 
all  about  it,"  he  explained.  Her  burning  inter- 
est made  him  laugh.  "Oh,  nothing  as  delight- 
ful as  Dickery  Dock!  A  long  dry  work  on 
journalism.  I  have  a  bee  in  my  bonnet  on  that 
subject — what  journalism  could  be.  I  have 
been  working  at  the  book  for  ten  years — ever 
since  I  left  college — and  I  dare  say  it  will  sell 
some  nineteen  copies*  But  at  least  it  will  be 
out  of  my  system/' 

The  ten  years  had  left  him  lined  and  worn, 
good-humored  about  it,  but  unillusioned.  He 
carried  a  flavor  of  travel,  as  though  his  study 
had  led  him  into  far  lands  and  strange  adven- 


THE  STARLING  127 

tures.  Sarah  wanted  to  know  more  with  an 
eagerness  that  no  one  harboring  a  spark  of 
youth  could  have  resisted.  So  he  told  her  of 
his  father's  newspaper  in  a  Massachusetts 
town  and  of  the  ideas  he  had  inherited  as  well 
as  those  he  had  quarried  out  for  himself ;  of  the 
fine  old  sheet's  downfall  after  his  father's  death 
and  of  his  pursuit  of  the  idea  through  lean 
years  of  baffling  experiences. 

"And  so  that  is  the  story  of  my  life,"  he 
ended  with  a  laugh  at  his  own  expansiveness. 
"I  am  sure  Desdemona  listened  just  as  you  do 
— held  herself  up  like  a  golden  bowl  while  the 
Moor  poured  on  and  on.  I  have  told  you  all 
my  dreams  and  desires  except  one." 

"And  that  one — am  I  to  ask?" 

He  showed  her  a  bony  wrist.  "To  get  fat," 
he  confided.  "I  live  on  cream  and  potatoes  and 
all  the  stout  ladies'  forbidden  fruits;  I  take  no 
exercise;  I  laugh  every  chance  I  get — and  look 
at  me !  I  would  give  an  argosy  for  a  pound  of 
flesh,  any  day.  What  can  I  do?" 

"Perhaps,  if  you  were  to  become  very,  very 
happy — "  she  suggested. 

He  liked  that,  liked  it  increasingly  as  his 
eyes  rested  on  her. 


128  THE  STARLING 

"That  is  a  beautiful  idea,"  he  said.  "I  will 
try  to  become  very,  very  happy.  If  you  tell  me 
it  is  possible!" 

"Oh,  it  is  always  just  around  the  comer," 
Sarah  assured  him. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  came  in,  and  Sarah  had  to 
remember  that  dinner  was  before  them;  but 
for  the  moment  she  was  outside  the  hedge,  and 
the  prospect  did  not  seem  very  formidable. 
Mrs.  Cawthorne's  gaiety,  her  curled  hair  and 
her  vivid  enjoyment  of  the  stranger,  made  the 
girl  smile  as  though  she  had  been  the  mother. 

"Dinner  is  served,"  said  Nelly,  and  passed  on 
to  the  library  door. 

It  was,  after  all,  a  distinguished  scholar  that 
came  out,  and  Mr.  Saxe  greeted  him-  as  such, 
with  respect  and  liking;  but  Mr.  Cawthorne, 
who  had  expanded!  liberally  on  the  morning  of 
the  interview,  seemed  now  to  have  lost  his 
tongue.  He  gave  the  visitor  a,  limp  hand  and 
a  glazed  eye,  and  shuffled  to  the  table  as  though 
he  were  a  very  old  man.  Mr.  Saxe  made  sev- 
eral attempts  to  get  into  communication;  he 
had  evidently  looked  forward  to  the  meeting, 
and  brought  topics  on  which  he  wanted  light; 
but  his  host's  hearing  seemed  to  have  failed 


THE  STARLING  129 

with  his  other  powers,  and  nothing  could  dis- 
tract him  from  the  immediate  business  of  his 
dinner.  Sarah,  reading  surprise  and  pity  in 
her  guest's  eyes,  could  have  wept  with  anger 
and  beaten  her  father  with  her  two  hands.  She 
longed  to  cry  out,  "He  is  only  bad!"  But  the 
courage  had  been  stricken  from  her  and  she 
could  scarcely  word  her  pallid,  constrained  re- 
plies to  the  company's  faithful  efforts  at  con- 
versation. Mrs.  Cawthorne,  at  first,  did  bet- 
ter. If  her  husband's  behavior  enraged  her, 
it  also  gave  her  a  dreadful  desire  to  laugh,  and 
her  gaiety  stayed  alight  until  Mr.  Cawthorne 
made  his  second  move. 

It  was  very  subtle:  only  a  patient  laying 
down  of  his  fork  after  a  first  taste,  the  trying 
and  abandoning  of  other  dishes  with  the  same 
silently  borne  repulsion,  an  occasional  look 
thrown  over  his  shoulder,  as  though  the  serv- 
ice dragged  interminably.  To  Mrs.  Cawthorne's 
sensitive  nerves  the  food  at  once  became  taste- 
less, cold,  ill  chosen,  and  Nelly's  waiting  a  tor- 
ture. Not  one  of  her  own  perceptions  survived 
to  deny  the  universal  condemnation;  she  was 
all  housekeeper,  and  a  failure,  and  she  no 
longer  could  even  smile.  The  family  unease 


130  THE  STARLING 

became  a  palpable  current,  a  physical  corro- 
sion eating  into  sensitive  organs  and  hollow- 
ing the  cheer  out  of  faltering  voices.  Mr. 
Saxe,  after  doing  his  gallant  best  with  no  real 
help,  looked  from  the  father's  bent  head  to 
the  mother's  strained  absent  face,  then  straight 
into  Sarah's  eyes  with  a  grave  question.  It 
was  so  kind  and  direct,  so  free  from  small  crit- 
icism or  conventional  pretense  that  it  gathered 
her  up  like  a  strong  arm  and  placed  her  be- 
side him,  unaf  raid  and  equal  to  anything. 

"Dinner  is  very  good — don't  you  think  so?" 
she  asked,  and  her  voice  had  a  new  note,  as 
though  she  had  grown  up  another  year  or  two 
since  they  had  sat  down.  "My  mother  is  trou- 
bled because  my  father  is  not  eating,  but  I 
think  the  dinner  is  tremendously  good,  don't 
you?" 

He  did  not  understand  all  that  he  had  done, 
but  he  welcomed  the  new  move  with  quick  ap- 
preciation. 

"You  don't  half  know  how  good  it  is — you 
can't,"  he  exclaimed.  "You  probably  have  this 
cooking  every  day;  it  is  a  matter  of  course  to 
you.  Mrs.  Cawthorne,  if  you  knew  what  it  is 
to  live  between  a  boarding-house  and  a  club, 
you  would  insist  on  my  having  more  pudding. 


THE  STARLING  131 

You  would  know  that  my  refusal  was  only 
manners." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne's  response  was  magic,  and 
stimulated  them  to  fresh  daring. 

"I  would  have  taken  another  browned  potato 
if  you  had,"  Sarah  said. 

"Words  can't  express  how  I  wanted  it.  Ifc 
is  the  concentrated  essence  of  home,  a  potato 
roasted  with  the  meat.  I  could  have  cried 
homesick  tears  over  mine." 

"Ah,  and  I  thought  they  were  cold  or  some-- 
thing; that  is  why  I  didn't  urge  you."  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  was  shining  and  comforted,  and 
Sarah  became  wickeder  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  her  life. 

"Very  old  people  are  cranky  about  food,"  she 
said  clearly.  "Oh,  my  father  doesn't  hear  a 
word  we  say,  Mr.  Saxe;  we  can  talk  freely 
before  him." 

"Sarah!"  gasped  her  mother,  but  Sarah  had 
serenely  gone  on. 

"Did  you  have  a  homy  home  when  you  were 
little — fried  mush  and  pillow  fights  and  baked 
apples  and  gingerbread  and  backgammon?" 
Sarah  had  not  had  a  homy  home,  but  she  had 
read  and  dreamed  of  them  until  she  knew  their 
ways  by  heart. 


132  THE  STARLING 

His  laugh  was  deep  with  feeling.  "Oh,  just 
exactly  that!  And  seventeen  kid  cousins  all 
over  the  place  on  Saturdays,  and  my  own  print- 
ing press  in  the  woodshed !" 

"I  had  a  party  once  in  my  childhood;" 
Sarah's  cheeks  were  aflame,  but  her  voice  only 
laughed.  "My  father  never  knew  about  it — 
not  till  this  day,  for  it  would  have  disturbed 
him.  He  went  away  overnight,  so  we  had  in 
twenty  children,  and  oh,  it  was  so  wonderful!" 
She  was  looking  back  on  the  dream  party,  the 
party  of  her  poem.  "We  played  games  and  had 
prizes  and  ice-cream — I  wish  you  had  come 
to  it." 

"I  am  afraid  I  was  editing  the  Yale  Lit. 
about  then — but  you  make  me  feel  as  if  I  had 
missed  the  event  of  my  life.  Couldn't  you  give 
another?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sarah.  "When  Dickery  Dock  is 
published,  we  will  have  another." 

She  rose  from  the  table,  followed  by  an  over- 
whelmed and  rather  scared  mother,  but,  as  Mr. 
Saxe  would  have  accompanied  them,  the  silent 
host  suddenly  found  his  tongue. 

"Stay  and  have  a  cigar  with  me/'  he  said 
suavely,  and  Mr.  Saxe  obeyed. 


THE  STARLING  133 

The  door  was  not  shut,  and  from  the  draw- 
ing-room they  could  hear  the  two  men's  voices, 
quickening  with  interest.  At  first  Saxe  spoke 
with  a  careful  distinctness,  but  he  very  soon 
forgot  the  supposed  deafness.  It  was  years 
since  Mr.  Cawthorne  had  so  exerted  himself; 
all  his  scholarship,  the  biting  humor  that  had 
made  his  classes  famous,  were  placed  freely 
at  the  disposal  of  this  strange  young  man.  Saxe 
took  eager  advantage,  as  though  his  intellectual 
hunger  were  not  often  satisfied,  but  fear  of 
tiring  the  old  gentleman  finally  made  him  rise 
before  he  had  received  the  hint.  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne had  a  mysterious  power  of  clearing  a 
room.  Outwardly  he  did  nothing;  Sarah  had 
decided  that  it  was  the  way  he  looked  at  the 
backs  of  his  hands. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  had  gone  up-stairs,  spent 
with  excitement,  and  perhaps  not  sorry,  kind 
American  mother  that  she  was,  to  let  her 
daughter  have  the  visitor  to  herself.  He  lis- 
tened absently  to  the  apology  she  had  left,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  Sarah  with  a  musing  smile. 

"You  certainly  are,  as  you  said,  a  strange 
family,"  he  admitted;  "but  I  like  you — oh, 
enormously.  There's  a  flavor,  and  a  distinc- 


134  THE  STARLING 

tion — your  father  is  a  remarkable  man  when 
he  wants  to  be." 

"Exactly,"  said  Sarah,  and  they  laughed, 
drawing  their  two  chairs  close  to  the  hearth. 
"Isn't  it  queer  not  to  want  to  be,  all  the  time  ?" 
she  went  on.  "I  was  born  wanting  to  be  good 
— weren't  you?" 

He  gave  the  question  sober  consideration. 
"No;  I  was  born  wanting  other  people  to  be 
good  while  I  stood  over  them  and  told  them 
how,"  he  decided.  "I  should  have  been  a  viru- 
lent and  obnoxious  reformer  if  my  mother 
hadn't  slipped  into  my  cradle  her  sense  of  the 
ridiculous.  It's  a  devastating  thing,  that 
sense.  I  launch  my  thunderbolt  at  modern 
journalism,  but  all  the  time  I  see  a  thin  gen- 
tleman, very  excited,  turning  a  pea-shooter  on 
the  Overland  Limited.  A  reformer  must  not 
know  how  he  appears.  It's  fatal." 

"But  a  reformer  who  did  know  wouldn't  an- 
tagonize so  many  people." 

"My  dear  girl,  antagonism  is  the  harrow  and 
the  plow,  it  is  what  makes  reform  live.  At- 
tacked, reform  has  to  prove  itself,  and  it  grows 
lusty  in  the  process.  My  book  will  be  three 
times  as  effectual  if  it  makes  some  of  its  critics 


THE  STARLING  135 

so  hopping  mad  that  they'll  attack  it.  Don't 
be  afraid  of  a  fight." 

She  thought  of  how  she  had  fought  that 
night,  and  shivered.  "Oh,  I  want  pleasant- 
ness," she  cried;  "warmth  and  love  and  pleas- 
antness. All  round  me  tight!" 

"They  will  always  be  where  you  are,"  he 
said,  "but,  just  the  same,  isn't  it  your  hurts 
that  give  you  ideas?  Longings  that  are  denied 
blossom  into  Dickery  Docks." 

"Longings  that  weren't  denied  would  blossom 
into  far,  far  better  things.  Being  hurt  may 
give  you  ideas,  but  being  blessed — oh,  that 
might  give  you  wings!  I'd  like  to  try  it,  any- 
way." 

"I  don't  believe  in  it  for  you,  but  I  would 
give  it  to  you  if  I  could — just  to  see  your  eyes 
shine."  He  said  things  like  that  so  simply 
that  they  could  not  make  even  Sarah  shy.  "I 
should  like  to  bring  you  happiness  in  great 
boxes,  like  roses,  and  watch  you  open  it."  The 
roses  seemed  to  be  there,  between  them,  and  he 
might  have  thought  it  was  their  glow  that  was 
suddenly  reflected  in  her  lifted  face;  but  she 
was  looking  past  him,  for  a  big  and  strikingly 
good-looking  man  was  coming  down  the  long 
room. 


136  THE  STARLING 

"Robert!"  she  said,  and  as  she  murmured 
an  introduction,  Saxe's  desire  to  see  her  eyes 
shine  was  liberally  granted.  Robert  greeted 
the  stranger  with  a  well  disposed  sovereign's 
cordiality,  and  as  the  two  men  stood  together, 
speaking  of  the  fog  that  had  rolled  up  from  the 
bay  since  the  wind  dropped,  Sarah  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  the  thrilled  cry  in  her 
heart — "They're  getting  in!"  Mr.  Saxe  was 
not  a  bit  good-looking ;  beside  the  glorious  Rob- 
ert, his  face  appeared  fleshless  and  even,  just 
now,  a  little  grim ;  but,  oh,  he  was  a  wonderful 
friend!  And  Robert  was  romance  embodied. 
Daily  the  gap  in  the  hedge  was  widening. 

"If  the  boats  are  being  delayed,  I  ought  to 
start  for  home,"  Saxe  said,  and  yet  he  lingered, 
as  though  the  foggy  bay  was  a  bleak  prospect. 
Robert  took  the  bright  center  of  the  hearth 
rug,  looking  down  on  Sarah,  but  kindly  includ- 
ing Saxe. 

"This  is  the  first  moment  I  have  had  to 
breathe  since  breakfast,"  he  announced.  "We 
busy  physicians  lead  a  dog's  life,  Mr.  Saxe. 
We  belong  to  everybody.  Sarah,  your  not  hav- 
ing a  telephone  has  its  advantages.  When  I 
was  leaving  the  house,  the  maid  asked  the 


THE  STARLING  137 

usual,  'Where  can  you  be  reached?'  and  I  said, 
'I  can't  be!'  Then  I  ran."  He  laughed,  suc- 
cess and  satisfaction  in  every  line  of  his  pleas- 
ant person,  and  Sarah's  happiness  bubbled  over 
in  an  answering  laugh.  Her  glance  went  on  to 
Mr.  Saxe  to  see  if  he  too  felt  the  sunny  charm 
of  the  moment,  but  his  averted  face  was  in 
shadow  and  told  nothing.  "It  is  like  touching 
base  to  come  here,"  Robert  went  on.  "Can't 
be  tagged.  Of  course,  when  I  can't  come  be- 
cause I  am  expecting  to  be  called,  that's  an- 
other story."  He  laughed  again,  enjoying  his 
own  discomfiture,  enjoying  everything  that 
concerned  him.  The  general  radiance  lit  in 
Sarah  a  startling  impulse  to  stand  close  be- 
side him,  her  head  against  his  big  shoulder — 
but  with  a  hand  out  to  Mr.  Saxe,  who  looked 
rather  lost  and  lonely  in  the  shadow. 

"Please  both  sit  down,"  she  urged.  "You 
make  me  feel  that  you  are  going,  and  1  do  so 
like  having  you  here !" 

"I'm  afraid  I  have  to  go  rather  soon;"  Rob- 
ert took  Saxe's  former  chair,  stretching  him- 
self out  luxuriously  to  the  fire.  "A  man  who 
works  as  hard  as  I  do  has  to  get  his  full  night's 
sleep.  It's  a  curious  thing — I  find  I  need  ex- 


138  THE  STARLING 

actly  eight  hours.  If  a  man  can  do  his  best  on 
less,  I  tell  him,  'All  right,  go  ahead,  take 
seven  or  six  or  any  amount  that  suits  your  indi- 
vidual constitution.  Me,  I  need  eight.'  We 
doctors  can't  always  get  what  we  need;  I  can 
be  up  a  whole  night  and  you  would  never  know 
it;  but  I'm  not  at  my  hair-trigger  best,  and  I 
know  it,  I  can  tell  you.  How  much  do  you  take, 
Mr.  Saxe?" 

Mr.  Saxe  was  looking  suddenly  cheered  and 
lighted;  but  perhaps  it  was  only  because  Rob- 
ert's shadow  had  withdrawn  itself. 

"Oh,  I  am  a  newspaper  man.  I  get  what  I 
can,  where  I  can — I  never  add  it  up.  The  total 
would  be  too  appallingly  small."  He  came  over 
to  Sarah,  his  hand  out  "I  don't  dare  sit  down. 
I  am  on  my  last  pint  of  gas — I  mean,  manly 
resolution,  and  it  has  got  to  run  me  to  the 
boat."  He  held  her  hand  warmly,  closely,  not 
shaking  it,  but  smiling  down  into  her  eyes  as 
though  he  still  had  a  splendid  reserve  of  what 
he  called  "gas."  "I  am  going  to  take  the 
child — we  settled  that,  didn't  we?  I  shall  bring 
you  a  contract  to  sign  in  a  very  little  while." 
He  put  the  manuscript  under  his  arm  and  held 
out  a  cordial  hand  to  Robert.  "I  am  glad  to 


THE  STARLING  139 

have  met  you,  Doctor  Russell,"  he  said  with  a 
ring  in  his  voice  that  brought  Robert  up  for  a 
hearty  answer. 

"I  like  that  man,"  he  announced,  when  Saxe 
had  gone.  "It's  funny — I  take  to  people  or  I 
don't  in  the  first  two  minutes.  That  settles  it. 
Remember  how  it  was  at  your  party,  years 
ago?  We  were  friends  right  straight  off.  Re- 
member it?" 

"Oh,  do  I !"  It  was  a  mere  breath,  a  sigh  for 
memories  almost  unbearably  poignant,  and 
Robert  did  not  hear. 

"Well,  you  were  a  little  thing;  you  wouldn't 
remember  as  I  do.  You  were  rather  shy,  I 
think.  I  know  I  told  a  story  or  two  and  sort 
of  helped  you  out.  We  must  have  danced  to- 
gether half  the  evening." 

He  did  not  really  remember,  after  all;  for 
they  had  not  danced  at  Sarah's  party,  except 
for  the  Virginia  reel.  She  was  so  absurdly 
hurt  that  she  had  to  turn  away  from  the  sub- 
ject. 

"I  am  glad  you  liked  Mr.  Saxe,"  she  said 
hurriedly.  "He  is  helping  me  with — Robert, 
shall  I  tell  you  a  secret?" 

"Go  on,"  he  encouraged  her. 


140  THE  STARLING 

"I  have  written  a  book.  Not  a  real  serious 
novel,  of  course,  just  a  little  one,  but  Mr.  Saxe 
thinks  he  can  get  it  published.  Perhaps  I'm 
an  author!"  She  opened  her  secret  before  him 
as  though  it  had  been  Mr.  Saxe's  box  of  roses, 
and  looked  for  the  response  in  his  face,  but  she 
found  there  only  a  faint  uneasiness. 

"A  book!"  he  repeated. 

She  thought  he  was  afraid  that  she  might  be 
about  to  make  a  public  fool  of  herself,  and  ha- 
stened to  reassure  him  with  unresentful  sweet- 
ness. 

"Oh,  just  a  little  story,  Robert;  nothing  pre- 
tentious or  that  matters.  Only  it  has  been  fun. 
And  Mr.  Saxe  likes  it.  It's  about  a  father  and 
a  daughter." 

His  listening  had  grown  absent,  as  though 
his  thoughts  had  been  sent  off  in  a  new  direc- 
tion. "I  mean  to  write  books  some  day,"  he 
said  with  a  clearing  brow.  "Plenty  of  the  big 
medical  men  do.  And  they  ought  to.  Now  my 
idea  is — "  He  settled  deeper  in  his  chair  and 
his  topic,  a  shapely  hand  pointing  his  mean- 
ings. If  Sarah  listened  a  little  less  devoutly 
than  usual,  he  did  not  consciously  realize  it ;  but 
he  presently  became  aware  of  the  hour. 


THE  STARLING  141 

"Well,  I  must  go,"  he  said,  and  dragged  him- 
self up.  "It's  awfully  sweet  here,  Sarah.  I 
don't  know  a  pleasanter  place  for  a  tired  man 
to  drop  in."  He  had  her  hand,  and  again  that 
strange  thing  happened,  that  sense  of  a  rushing 
wind  that  swept  about  them,  shutting  them  in 
together.  Sarah  had  gone  half-way  down  the 
room  with  him  before  she  knew  in  words  that 
he  still  held  her  hand.  She  drew  it  away,  and, 
fearing  that  it  had  made  him  think  less  of  her, 
she  said  a  very  composed  and  cool  good  night  as 
a  counter-balance.  After  he  had  gone  she  still 
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  out  into  the 
heavy  darkness,  asking  hot  troubled  questions 
of  the  invisible  stars. 

Emotion  subsiding,  left,  as  always,  dream. 
Oddly  enough,  the  central  figure  was  not,  at 
first,  Robert.  The  setting  was  Saxe's  ferry 
boat,  feeling  its  way  through  the  blind  fog. 
Crash  and  panic ;  Saxe  was  saving  women  and 
little  children ;  then  he  was  in  the  water,  strug- 
gling alone. 

"I'm  coming — I'll  help  you!"  she  actually 
spoke  the  words,  but  was  too  intent  on  the 
scene  to  hear  them.  She  was  wrenching  off  a 
cabin  door,  and  Robert  was  helping  her.  Now 


142  THE  STARLING 

they  were  on  two  doors  lashed  together,  seizing 
Saxe  as  he  went  down  for  the  last  time,  drag- 
ging him  by  main  strength — 

"Well,  Sarah!"  The  living  voice,  breaking 
in  on  the  intensity  of  her  dream  effort,  nearly 
made  Sarah  scream  with  the  shock.  She  shrank 
back,  weak  and  trembling,  her  eyes  fixed  blind- 
ly on  her  father  as  he  slowly  advanced.  She 
did  not  remember  the  unsettled  score  between 
them  until  he  stood  confronting  her,  a  gleam 
behind  his  glasses. 

"Well,  father  ?"  She  stiffened  for  the  com- 
bat, but  wearily,  and  wishing  that  just  this 
once  she  might  be  let  off.  That  dinner  table 
defiance  seemed  immeasurably  distant. 

"I  said  you  hadn't  a  sense  of  humor,"  he 
drawled.  "I  take  that  back.  It's  a  queer  sense 
of  humor — it  isn't  just  like  mine,  and  I  don't 
know  if  I  wholly  care  for  it.  But  it's  there, 
Sairy— it's  th-th-there !" 

She  looked  at  him  from  remote  depths  of 
emotional  exhaustion,  then  closed  the  front 
door  and  turned  to  the  stairs. 

"That  wasn't  a  sense  of  humor,  father;  it 
was  life  and  death,"  she  said  over  her  shoulder. 


vn 


CHRISTMAS  was  a  difficult  day  in  the 
Cawthorne  household.  Mr.  Cawthorne 
never  liked  his  presents.  He  did  not  say  so, 
robustly,  so  as  to  give  his  family  a  chance  to 
grow  robust  in  return;  he  merely  looked  them 
over  with  a  dry,  "Much  obliged!"  that  stung, 
or  asked  irritably  what  they  were  for.  Sarah 
had  argued  for  years  that  there  was  no  sense 
in  bothering  him  with  gifts,  and  in  January 
Mrs.  Cawthorne  always  agreed,  but  by  Decem- 
ber her  heart  would  fail  her. 

"It  does  seem  too  mean,  when  I  have  five 
presents  for  you,  and  you  probably  have  seven 
for  me,"  she  insisted. 

"Eight,"  said  Sarah  jubilantly. 

She  was  making  tea  for  her  mother,  whose 
enthusiasm  in  the  matter  of  the  five  presents 
had  left  her  very  flat.  Sarah  had  pulled  her 
chintz  couch  to  the  fire,  and  the  hour  had  a 
pleasant  homy  quality,  a  glow  and  gaiety  such 
as  she  had  put  into  every  page  of  Dickery  Dock. 
The  driving  rain  against  the  windows  made  it 
unlikely  that  Robert  would  drop  in,  and  though 
143 


144  THE  STARLING 

his  comings  were  the  spring  of  all  Sarah's  new 
jubilance,  there  was  sometimes  a  curious  relief 
in  knowing  that  he  would  not  come — perhaps 
only  because  it  left  her  free  to  go  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  door-bell.  The  hedge  had  never 
imprisoned  her  so  closely  as  did  the  fear  of 
missing  Robert. 

"Eight  beauties/'  she  added,  and  their  eyes 
met  and  laughed  over  the  fun  of  presents. 

"Well,  one  of  mine  for  you  has  three  things 
in  it,"  her  mother  maintained. 

"And  two  of  mine  are  just  little  jokes,"  Sarah 
reassured  her. 

"I  dare  say  Robert  will  send  you  flowers  or 
something;"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  spoke  happily, 
but  without  a  trace  of  significance.  She  en- 
joyed Robert's  attentions,  welcoming  them  for 
Sarah  as  a  girl's  rights,  and  not  dreaming  of 
the  tumult  in  the  well  hidden  heart  so  close 
to  hers. 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  Sarah  was  sure 
of  it,  but  she  wanted  to  hear  it  again. 

"I  know  it.  Why,  darling,  he  brought  you 
candy  on  your  birthday — don't  you  remember?" 

Did  she  remember!  Her  mother's  perfect 
unconciousness  sometimes  frightened  Sarah;  it 


THE  STARLING  145 

seemed  to  suggest  that  the  whole  thing  might 
be  only  one  of  her  own  iridescent  imaginings, 
that  went  out  like  bubbles  at  the  touch  of  real- 
ity. For  all  Robert's  persistent  coming,  he 
never  said  anything  that  Sarah  would  have 
made  a  lover  in  a  story  say.  It  was  only  the 
way  he  looked  at  her,  and  that  strange  clash- 
ing confusion  when  he  took  her  hand. 

"I  hope  he  will,"  she  said  with  brave  light- 
ness. 

"And  Mr.  Saxe,  too,"  her  mother  piled  it  up. 
"How  many  times  has  he  been  over,  Bunny?" 
Mischief  glimmered  in  her  eyes  now,  but  Sarah 
did  not  notice. 

"Oh,  three  or  four  times,"  she  said  oblivi- 
ously. "Mother,  men  do  all  the  giving,  don't 
they?  Girls  don't  even  send  them  Christmas 
cards?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  dear.  Perhaps  not  the 
first  Christmas."  She  sighed.  "Women  like 
anything  just  because  it  is  given  them,  but  men 
are  so  disobliging  about  presents.  Do  help  me 
with  your  father.  His  present  hangs  over  me 
like  bad  news.  Every  morning,  when  I  wake 
up,  I  think,  'What  is  that  dreadful  thing  on  my 
mind?' "  She  laughed  at  herself,  but  feebly. 


X46  THE  STARLING 

"He  did  rather  like  the  green  leather  footstool, 
darling.  He  used  it,  anyway.  Haven't  you 
thought  of  anything?" 

"Mother,  I  have  put  my  last  inkstand  at  fa- 
ther's breakfast  plate,"  was  the  firm  answer. 
"If  presents  don't  give  pleasure,  they  are  ab- 
surd. And  it  isn't  as  if  he  took  any  trouble 
over  our  Christmas.  A  gold  piece  each  is  very 
easy." 

"But  he  always  gets  bright  new  ones  from  the 
bank,  dear!  Ancl  you  can't  tell — he  may  be 
hurt." 

"Oh,  I  shall  have  it  out  with  him  before- 
hand." Sarah's  courage  had  always  a  dash  of 
romance :  she  met  difficulty  like  a  knight  riding 
into  the  lists.  "I  shall  simply  tell  him,  with  per- 
fect candor  and  good  humor — "  A  hand  touched 
the  door,  and  she  stopped  with  guilty  sudden- 
ness as  Mr.  Cawthorne  came  in. 

"I  thought  I  heard  teacups,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  some,  Sarah.  It  is  too  dark  to  work  and  too 
early  to  light  up." 

He  sat  down  and  accepted  his  tea,  but  made 
no  pretense  of  joining  them ;  his  thoughts  held 
him  in  contented  isolation.  The  fire  blazed  duti- 
fully, but  the  ruddy  glow  that  had  irradiated 


THE  STARLING  147 

the  hour  was  gone,  and  Sarah's  resolution  weak- 
ened. After  all,  it  would  be  easier  to  buy  him 
something  than  to  have  it  out. 

"There  will  be  plenty  to  have  out  with  him," 
she  admitted.  She  had  not  yet  faced  the  prob- 
lem that  life  would  present  if  Robert — Sarah 
always  stopped  there,  between  a  gasp  and  a 
glow,  and  did  something  impetuously  kind  for 
her  mother. 

"Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Cawthorne  ab- 
sently as  the  slipping  rug  was  replaced.  Her 
eyes  were  on  her  husband's  fine  profile.  "What 
are  you  thinking  about,  Stephen?"  she  asked. 

He  looked  up  with  his  most  mellow  smile. 
"About  what  a  pretty  girl  you  were  when  I  first 
knew  you,"  he  drawled,  and  enjoyed  at  his  lei- 
sure her  silent  astonishment.  "Wasn't  that 
what  you  wanted  me  to  say?"  he  added.  "Ladies 
always  want  something  like  that,  don't  they?" 

"Not  unless  they  are  young  enough  to  believe 
it,"  she  said  with  a  short  sigh.  "I  really  wasn't 
pretty,"  she  presently  went  on.  "I  had  a  lot  of 
vivacity  and  expression,  but  a  photograph  al- 
ways found  me  out.  My  features  were  all  put 
in  wrong,  and  my  chin  was  crooked,  and  I  had 
such  horrid  thin  shoulders." 


148  THE  STARLING 

"Well,  I  m-married  you,"  he  offered  dryly, 
startling  her  into  a  laugh. 

"You  did,"  she  admitted,  and  fell  silent;  but 
he  was  not  left  long  to  his  own  undivulged 
thoughts.  "Stephen,  do  you  remember  the 
Christmas  party  at  the  Grants'  ?"  That  used  to 
be  a  yearly  question;  Mrs.  Cawthorne  had  to 
ask  it  when  the  breath  of  redwood  wreaths  was 
in  the  house ;  but  Sarah  had  not  heard  it  for  a 
long  time  now.  She  knew  all  about  that  party, 
though  it  had  happened  many  years  before  she 
came.  Mr.  Cawthorne's  eyes,  called  back  from 
the  fire,  had  a  patient  glimmer  for  the  incur- 
able sentimentality  of  women. 

"Young  people  used  to  waste  a  lot  of  time  on 
parties,"  he  observed  generally.  "I  think  the 
world  has  grown  more  sensible  in  that  respect." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  laughed  at  him.  "You  mole ! 
They  are  doing  it  much  more;  only  you  don't 
hear  about  it.  How  else  can  you  throw  young 
people  together?" 

"Why  throw  them  together?" 

"It  is  a  need  of  youth  and  sex — you  can't 
deny  that." 

He  put  down  his  cup  and  rose,  rubbing  a  slow 
hand  across  his  forehead.  "Sex — sex?"  he  re- 


THE  STARLING  149 

peated.  "Are  they  still  bothering  about  that 
old  bogy?" 

They  let  him  go  without  comment.  At  the 
door  he  looked  back  to  leave  a  warning.  "By 
the  way,  I  hope  no  one's  youth  and  sex  will 
demand  any  more  conversation  in  the  hall.  It 
is  just  as  easy  to  talk  somewhere  else,  isn't  it? 
I  would  suggest  the  attic."  The  door  closed  on 
him,  and  Mrs.  Cawthorne  rose  with  the  strength 
of  exasperation. 

"He  ought  to  get  a  birch  rod  for  Christmas," 
she  declared. 

"Oh,  but  think  of  the  bleak  dismalness  of 
being  like  that!"  Sarah  cried.  "No  glow  in 
life,  no  little  affections  and  kindnesses,  nothing 
leaping  in  one's  blood !  Why,  mother,  he  seems 
to  me  the  saddest  little  man  in  the  whole 
world!" 

"Now,  Sarah !"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  clutched  the 
girl's  wrist,  and  even  shook  it.  "Being  sorry 
for  him  has  spoiled  my  life — don't  you  get 
sorry,  too !  Don't  do  it !  He  is  a  bad  old  man 
— you  remember  what  your  mother  tells  you! 
Don't  you  ever  be  sorry!"  Her  voice  rang  with 
warning;  and  then,  as  her  own  actual  words 
came  back  to  her,  she  broke  into  a  wail  of 


150  THE  STARLING 

laughter,  her  arms  thrown  about  her  child. 
"My  dear,  I  am  not  an  orthodox  mother,  I'm 
afraid,"  she  apologized. 

Sarah  went  down-stairs  on  Christmas  morn- 
ing with  the  familiar  reluctance.  She  and  her 
mother  would  have  whole-heartedly  exclaimed 
and  embraced  over  their  presents  if  they  could 
have  opened  them  alone  together ;  fcut  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne's  way  of  looking  on,  as  though  at  some 
quaint  biological  phenomenon,  chilled  the  blood 
and  took  the  reality  out  of  grateful  words.  Sa- 
rah would  have  had  the  presents  up-stairs,  but 
her  mother  could  not  so  openly  give  up  the  tra- 
dition that  they  were  a  family. 

"And  he  does  like  to  see  the  things,"  she  re- 
minded Sarah  as  they  waited  for  him.  "He 
always  looks  at  everything.  If  we  can  do  any- 
thing that  interests  him,  Bunny — !" 

Sarah  was  not  listening.  All  her  power  of  at- 
tention had  fastened  on  a  package  laid  at  her 
plate,  addressed  in  Robert's  handwriting. 

"I  know  I  am  foolish,  but  I  can't  help  hoping 
he  will  like  his  lamp,"  Mrs.  Cawthbrne  went 
on.  "His  old  one  is  disreputable.  Do  you  think 
he  will  use  it?" 

Sarah  had  slipped  the  fateful  package  into 


THE  STARLING  151 

her  lap.  "I  wish  I  could  have  given  Robert 
some  little  thing,"  she  murmured. 

"If  we  fill  the  lamp  and  light  it — here  he 
comes,  dear!"  And  Mrs.  Cawthorne  straight- 
ened up  valiantly  to  the  ordeal.  Her  life  did 
not  lack  drama. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  had  forgotten  that  it  was 
Christmas,  and  went  back  for  the  two  gold 
pieces,  bright  from  the  bank.  He  had  put  them 
in  red  boxes  this  year,  and  Mrs.  Cawthorne 
found  that  touching.  Then,  settling  down,  he 
confronted  his  lamp  with  a  hostile  stare. 

"Oh,  very  handsome,  very  good,"  he  drawled. 
"Much  obliged.  I  don't  have  to  use  it,  do  I  ?" 

The  worst  had  happened,  as  usual,  and  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  accepted  it  without  resentment.  "I 
hoped  you  would,  Stephen !  Your  old  one  is  so 
shabby." 

"I  like  it  shabby.  And  I  am  used  to  the  smell. 
I  don't  believe  this  would  smell  the  same." 

"It  wouldn't  smell  at  all!" 

"I  should  miss  that.  I  couldn't  work  as  well. 
What  is  this,  Sarah?  Oh,  a  book-rack.  Very 
pretty.  Much  obliged." 

"It  really  isn't  pretty ;"  Sarah  spoke  in  her 
most  polite  voice.  "I  just  bought  any  old  thing." 


152  THE  STARLING 

"Sarah!"  breathed  her  mother.  Even  her 
father  looked  surprised. 

"You  see,  you  don't  care  for  presents,"  Sarah 
went  on  with  a  tranquillity  that  she  felt  to  be 
superb ;  only  her  wrath  over  Mrs.  Cawthorne's 
disappointment  could  have  given  her  the  power. 
"I  used  to  worry  and  hunt  and  change  things, 
as  mother  does — and  be  just  as  disappointed  at 
the  failure.  Then  I  wanted  to  give  it  up — but 
that  takes  so  much  courage.  Cold-blooded  cour- 
age. So  I  simply  made  a  Christmas  gesture." 

Mr.  Cawthorne  put  down  his  emptied  coffee 
cup  with  the  familiar  glimmer  dawning  in  his 
eyes. 

"You  have  too  many  youthful  emotions,  and 
one  can't  depend  on  your  sense  of  humor,"  he 
observed,  "but  I  sometimes  think  you  have 
b-b-brains,  Sairy." 

This  was  the  test — to  stay  grown  up  and 
quiet  after  the  excitement  of  making  her  stand 
was  over,  to  suppress  all  trembling  resentment, 
the  weakness  of  after-wrath.  She  met  it  tri- 
umphantly. 

"I  have  a  good  right  to  them,"  she  said  with 
a  little  polite  smile.  He  laughed  aloud,  so  ap- 
preciatively that  all  her  hostility  melted,  leaving 


THE  STARLING  153 

her  with  a  new  weakness  to  fight ;  for  he  could 
always  awaken  in  her  a  girlish  longing  to  love 
him. 

"I  don't  care — I  have  Robert !"  she  told  her- 
self over  and  over,  her  hand  caressing  the  hid- 
den package.  It  seemed  to  answer  her  touch, 
just  as  Robert's  hand  always  answered. 

She  would  not  open  it  until  her  father  had 
left  the  room.  When  at  last  she  was  free  to 
unwrap  a  white  vellum  Tennyson,  two  feet 
square,  illustrated  in  water-colors,  her  beating 
heart  drowned  out  any  sound  from  her  private 
judgment.  She  could  have  loved  a  red  plush 
album  that  came  "Wishing  Sarah  a  Merry 
Christmas,  from  Robert ;"  whatever  he  did  was 
divinely  right.  And  Mrs.  Cawthorne  could  be 
trusted  to  admire  anything  that  one  showed  her 
with  enthusiasm. 

"But  nothing  from  Mr.  Saxe?"  she  asked  dis- 
appointedly when  she  had  said  all  that  Sarah's 
joy  demanded. 

"Oh,  Christmas  isn't  over,"  Sarah  sang. 

All  day  the  song  was  in  her  voice  or  her  ex^ 
ultant  silence.  A  few  first  weak  violets  were 
out  in  the  garden,  and  she  hunted  them  until 
her  fingers  were  numb  from  the  cold  wet 


154  THE  STARLING 

preparing  incense  for  the  moment  that  must 
come  before  the  day  was  over.  As  though  red- 
wood and  violet  were  not  enough,  she  threw  a 
stick  of  eucalyptus  on  the  fire  when  the  tea 
hour  struck  its  thrilling  "Now !" 

"Merry  Christmas!"  called  a  pleasant  voice 
from  the  other  end  of  the  great  room ;  and  Sarah 
could  not  stay  disappointed  with  Christopher 
Saxe  holding  her  two  hands,  shedding  down  on 
her  his  abundant  kindness.  He  really  was  the 
nicest  man  in  the  whole  world — one  might  love 
Robert  and  still  admit  that !  He  had  a  florist's 
box  under  his  arm. 

"If  I  had  sent  them  this  morning,  I  couldn't 
have  seen  you  open  them,"  he  said.  "And  I've 
another  present  for  you  that  you'll  like  still 
better,  but  I  am  not  going  to  give  it  to  you  yet." 

"Oh,  why  not?"  She  was  often  shy  and  con- 
strained with  Robert,  but  never  with  Saxe. 
There  was  something  in  the  way  he  liked  her 
that  gave  her  a  magic  security  and  freedom. 
"Oh,  please — I  am  so  happy  anyway  to-day — 
pile  it  up !" 

His  glance  asked  a  grave  question,  but  he 
spoke  lightly.  "Just  Christmas-happy?  Or 
happy  in  particular?" 


THE  STARLING  155 

"Oh,  just  life."  She  opened  his  box  and  cried 
out  over  its  contents;  orange  blossoms  and 
Marechal  Neil  roses  bedded  in  deep  purple 
heliotrope.  She  brought  water  and  arranged 
them,  standing  back  like  a  painter  from  her 
effects ;  then  she  returned  to  him  with  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction.  "What  is  the  other  present?" 

"But,  after  you  get  it,  you  won't  pay  any 
more  attention  to  me,"  he  objected.  "I  shall  be 
only  so  many  feet  of  messenger.  No.  Sit  down 
here  and  make  a  fuss  over  me  for  ten  minutes. 
I  need  it,  Sarah  Cawthorne." 

She  looked  into  his  face  then,  and,  as  he 
looked  steadily  back,  something  was  revealed  to 
her,  something  saddening,  for  which  she  did 
not  know  the  words.  She  sat  down  beside  him 
on  the  couch, 

"I  really  don't  know  you  very  well,"  she  said 
wistfully.  "I  think  we  always  talk  about  me! 
All  sorts  of  sad  things  may  be  happening  to 
you  and  I  not  know  them." 

"No,  they  are  not,"  he  said  quickly.  "There 
is  not  a  thing  in  my  life  that  I  wouldn't  tell  you, 
if  you  had  patience  to  hear  it.  Only  as  a  topic 
you  are  so  much  more  interesting."  He  had 
smiled  away  the  shadow,  and  she  was  glad  to 


156  THE  STARLING 

forget  it.  "My  one  real  trouble  is  that  I  have 
lost  another  pound — somewhere  between  here 
and  the  ferry." 

"Running  to  catch  it?" 

"No ;  running  to  get  here.  You  told  me  once 
how  I  might  grow  fat." 

"Did  I?" 

"Yes.  I  was  to  become  very,  very  happy." 
His  eyes,  fixed  on  her  lighted  face,  begged  for 
something,  but  she  did  not  see. 

"And  aren't  you?" 

"No." 

"You  are  spoiled,"  she  reproved  him.  "You 
have  had  the  freedom  of  the  world — you  haven't 
been  shut  up  inside  a  hedge!  You  have  had 
work  and  success,  and  known  everything,  and 
when  you  liked  people,  you  could  go  after  them 
— you  didn't  have  to  sit  still  till  they  broke  their 
way  in."  The  force  of  her  old  longing  surged 
up  in  her  deepened  voice.  "You  have  no  right 
not  to  be  very,  very  happy  every  day  of  your 
life!" 

"Ah,  my  dear!"  It  was  a  mere  breath,  and 
the  lifting  and  dropping  of  his  hands  completed 
it.  Then  he  laughed  at  himself,  shrugging 
away  the  moment.  "You  will  be  sorry  you 


THE  STARLING  157 

scolded  me  when  you  see  the  other  present,"  he 
said,  suggestive  fingers  at  his  breast  pocket. 

"Need  I  wait  any  longer?" 

"Well,  then!" 

He  took  from  a  long  envelope  a  typewritten 
document.  Sarah  had  gone  as  far  as  the  party 
of  the  first  part,  named  Sarah  Cawthorne,  and 
hereinafter  to  be  referred  to  as  "the  Author," 
before  understanding  burst  upon  her. 

"My  book,"  she  said  breathlessly.  "You  have 
done  it!"  Her  gratitude,  her  lovely  manners, 
struggled  against  some  overwhelming  need. 
"Oh,  I  must  just  tell  my  mother!"  she  implored. 
A  moment  later  she  was  flying  up  the  stairs. 

She  came  back  a  very  composed  and  proper 
young  author,  with  only  the  shining  of  her  eyes 
to  betray  her,  and  thanked  him  with  earnest 
formality.  They  took  the  contract  to  the  desk 
for  her  signature. 

"Sit  down  with  great  care,"  he  urged  as  he 
pulled  out  the  chair  for  her.  "The  least  joggle 
and  it  would  all  burst  out." 

Her  composure  visibly  trembled.  "What 
would?" 

"Your  happy  heart.  You  would  jump  up  and 
down,  you  know;  you  might  even  throw  your 


158  THE  STARLING 

arms  about  my  neck."  He  had  passed  the 
hedge,  as  he  always  did;  a  peal  of  revealing 
laughter  welcomed  him. 

"I  wish  I  could,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  Mr.  Saxe, 
I  really  wish  I  could!  I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you  enough  in  plain  words." 

"I  will  tell  you  how;"  his  cheerfully  matter- 
of-fact  tone  took  all  significance  out  of  what 
might  come.  "Aren't  you  nearly  ready  to  stop 
calling  me  Mr.  Saxe?  One  can't  do  it  until  one 
is  ready,  of  course,  but  I  hope  you  don't  think 
of  me  as  Mr.  Saxe.  Do  you?" 

Sarah  gave  it  candid  reflection. 

"No.  I  think  of  you  as  Christopher  Saxe," 
she  decided.  "But  Christopher  isn't  a  very 
natural  name  to  use,  some  way." 

"Oh,  I  have  never  been  called  that." 

"What  did  they  call  you  at  college?" 

He  looked  down  at  his  bony  wrists  with  a  rue- 
ful smile.  "Skinny,"  he  admitted. 

Again  her  laugh  rang  out.  "Oh,  that  wouldn't 
do.  What  do  your  sisters  call  you?" 

"Bob.  I  don't  know  why.  Oh,  I  believe  it 
was  Bobbin  when  I  was  a  little  fellow — some 
comment  on  my  behavior." 

Sarah  did  not  like  Bob.    "The  thing  to  do," 


THE  STARLING  159 

she  thought  it  out,  "is  to  make  Christopher  into 
a  natural  and  easy  name  because  it  means  you. 
For  instance,  I  never  intend  to  name  my  gentle 
heroines  Alice.  I  am  going  to  make  them  so 
really  gentle  that  I  can  call  them  Kate  or  Bar- 
bara without  upsetting  the  impression.  And  I 
will  call  my  violent  ones  Celia,  if  I  like — or 
Effie !  They  will  get  the  better  of  their  names, 
just  as  we  do  in  life."  She  folded  the  signed 
contract  and  gave  it  back  to  him.  "Thank  you, 
Christopher.  Happy  New  Year,  Christopher," 
she  said. 

"Happy  New  Year,  Sarah,"  he  returned.  It 
sounded  like,  "God  bless  you,  Sarah !"  and,  with- 
out knowing  why,  she  found  tears  near  her 
eyes.  Then  the  voice  of  voices  magically  cleared 
them  away. 

"Merry  Christmas!"  called  Robert  from  the 
doorway.  "Oh,  how  are  you,  Saxe?  Merry 
Christmas !  Glad  to  see  you.  Did  you  get  your 
present,  Sarah?  Did  you  like  it?" 

He  had  taken  possession  of  them  both,  of  the 
room,  of  the  universe,  and  Sarah's  eyes  were 
shining  up  at  him  as  the  moon  shines  at  her 
lord  the  sun;  but  she  greeted  him  in  reserved 
and  gracious  terms,  like  the  perfect  lady  that 


160  THE  STARLING 

she  was.  She  never  squealed  her  pleasure  at 
him,  as  other  girls  did,  or  grew  intimate  in  her 
thanks,  and  Robert  liked  that.  He  had  even 
more  than  the  usual  wariness  that  life  teaches 
the  good-looking,  stalwart,  well-born  and  pros- 
perous male. 

"I  have  been  running  a  Christmas  tree/'  he 
announced,  alight  with  satisfaction  and  suc- 
cess. "I  don't  know  why  it  is — people  are  al- 
ways asking  me  to  do  things  like  that.  I  sup- 
pose because  I  don't  mind  making  a  goat  of 
myself.  It  was  at  the  Klondike  Warrens' — 
you  know,  Sarah,  Dosey  Warren's  uncle.  They 
live  in  a  sort  of  palace,  copy  of  Versailles  or 
something,  and  she  had  collected  about  fifty 
poor  children,  so  I  did  the  regulation  thing — 
white  beard,  red  clothes,  sleigh-bells.  It  was 
good  sport.  I  like  kids — always  did.  I  like  to 
make  them  laugh.  It  is  easy,  of  course — any 
one  can ;  you  only  have  to  have  a  knack  at  jokes. 
I  would  pretend  to  read  a  name  on  a  parcel: 
'Heinrich  Schlimpelhausen !'  Of  course,  no  one 
would  come  forward.  Then  I'd  say,  'Oh,  hold 
on,  I've  pronounced  that  name  wrong.  It's 
Neddy  Smith!'  That  got  them  every  time." 

The  duet  of  his  and  her  laughter  satisfied 


THE  STARLING  161 

him,  but  Sarah  looked  at  Saxe  to  see  why  it  had 
not  been  a  trio.  He  was  sunk  back  in  his  chair, 
looking  fixedly  at  Robert  over  tented  fingers. 
Robert's  tale  was  only  just  begun,  but  suddenly 
Saxe  interrupted. 

"I  was  a  Santa  Glaus  once — though  I  hadn't 
any  red  clothes,"  he  began.  "It  was  in  China. 
I  was  ostensibly  looking  up  an  article  on  Christ- 
mas in  the  Missions,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  was  on  the  trail  of — something  quite  differ- 
ent." His  dropped  voice  hinted  at  sinister  ex- 
periences, and  Sarah  was  torn  between  her 
longing  to  hear  and  an  uneasy  sense  that  this 
was  not  fair  to  Robert.  Robert  always  had  the 
center.  That  was  one  of  the  undisputed  laws 
of  the  universe.  He  would  be  displeased  if  Saxe 
kept  it  too  long.  An  anxious  glance  showed  him 
as  yet  tolerant,  even  willing  to  hear;  and  then 
she  actually  forgot  him,  uplifting  herself  like 
Desdemona  to  receive  Saxe's  quiet  tale.  He  had 
reached  the  Mission  in  the  same  hour  with  a 
whisper  that  it  was  to  be  attacked  and  burned 
when  the  native  children  had  left  the  mission 
school  that  day. 

"And  so  the  point  was  that  the  children  must 
not  go  until  help  could  arrive;  and  that  was 


162  THE  STARLING 

seven  hours,"  he  explained.  "They  must  want 
to  stay — we  didn't  dare  show  our  hand  by  lock- 
ing them  in.  By  jove,  I'll  never  forget  those 
seventy  little  yellow  moon  faces  lifted  for  the 
signal  that  school  was  over,  while  we  discussed 
possibilities  with  an  air  of  polite  badinage. 
Then  some  one  thought  of  the  Christmas  tree." 

Sarah  by  this  time  was  in  the  thick  of  the 
action.  She  helped  drag  in  and  set  up  the  tree, 
she  was  flinging  upon  it  anything  on  which  she 
could  lay  her  hands,  suitable  or  absurd,  she  was 
marching  the  children  round  to  happy  music 
and  leading  them  in  games  till  the  doors  could 
be  flung  open,  she  was  luring  in  the  mothers 
who  came  to  see  why  the  children  had  not  re- 
turned; then  she  was  flying  to  the  kitchen  to 
start  the  improvised  supper  while  Saxe  began 
the  distribution  of  the  crazy  presents. 

"I  haven't  Russell's  knack  at  jokes,  but  I  had 
to  be  funny  then  or  die — quite  literally,"  he  ex- 
plained. "Any  one  can  be  funny  under  those 
circumstances.  I  was.  I  was  frightfully  funny. 
Largely  in  pantomime,  too,  for  of  course  they 
didn't  understand  much.  It  takes  a  good  deal 
to  break  up  a  little  Chink's  composure,  but  I 
did  it.  You  couldn't  have  got  them  away.  They 


THE  STARLING  163 

thought  I  was  crazy,  and  that  always  appeals 
to  an  Oriental.  Heavens,  what  we  didn't  give, 
them!  Kitchen  utensils,  brushes  and  combs, 
garters,  old  calendars,  postage  stamps,  wedding 
rings,  as  well  as  all  the  raw  materials  of  the 
presents  they  had  been  planning  to  make  in  the 
next  ten  days — and  every  one  of  us  jumping  a 
foot  at  any  chance  sound,  and  then  being  busier 
and  merrier  than  ever.  They  never  had  such  a 
Christmas.  They  say  it  put  the  Mission  solidly 
on  its  feet  for  life.  Half  the  local  population 
was  under  our  roof  by  the  time  the  bully  Amer- 
ican blue-jackets  came  clamp,  clamp,  clamp, 
from  the  nearest  railway  station,  and  the  neigh^ 
bors  decided  that  it  wasn't  a  good  season  for 
killing  missionaries.  I  couldn't  write  it  up, 
for  diplomatic  reasons.  Pity!  I  could  have 
made  a  good  page  of  it.  But,  someway,  I  have 
never  wanted  to  play  Santa  Clause  since,"  he 
concluded. 

Sarah,  who  was  crying  on  the  neck  of  a  blue-, 
jacket,  had  to  know  more.  Quite  unconsciously 
she  had  left  her  chair  for  a  stool  beside  Saxe, 
and  all  her  burning  attention  was  fixed  on  him, 
but  gradually  a  growing  expression  under  hia 
half  dropped  lids  brought  her  back  to  con-r 


164  THE  STARLING 

sciousness.  The  look  was  distinctly  wicked: 
there  was  good-humored  malice  in  it,  unholy 
triumph.  And  so  the  spell  was  broken,  and, 
turning  her  head,  she  saw  that  Robert  sat  aloof, 
looking  abstractedly  toward  the  ceiling  and 
drumming  on  his  chair  back  with  patient  fin- 
gers. That  was  catastrophe.  She  started  up. 

"I  should  prefer  your  Christmas  tree,  Rob- 
ert," she  exclaimed.  "I  wish  I  could  have  seen 
you.  Did  you  make  yourself  big  and  burly?" 

"Not  especially,"  said  Robert. 

The  case  was  even  worse  than  she  had  feared. 
Sarah  bent  her  whole  heart  to  the  task  of  cheer- 
ing him,  and  secretly  wondered  that  Saxe,  usu- 
ally so  kind,  made  no  effort  to  help  her.  Half 
a  dozen  warmly  interested  questions  had  been 
repelled  before  she  happened  on  a  successful 
one. 

"Was  Dosia  there?" 

"Oh,  yes.  She  was  running  the  affair.  It 
was  for  her  that  I  did  it."  That  made  Robert 
feel  better;  he  expanded  to  the  topic.  "Dosey 
Warren  has  improved  a  lot  lately.  She's  qui- 
eter, more  womanly.  She  has  learned  to  listen, 
if  you  know  what  I  mean.  She  used  to  be  the 
sort  of  girl  that  just  waits  for  you  to  get 


THE  STARLING  165 

through  so  that  she  can  jump  in,  and  you 
couldn't  tell  her  anything  she  didn't  know.  I 
suppose  clever  girls  go  through  a  sort  of  cock- 
sure stage,  and  then,  if  there's  anything  to 
them,  they  get  over  it.  She  was  really  rather 
nice  with  the  kids." 

Robert  was  all  good  nature  again,  but  Sarah 
looked  grave  and  pale.  Saxe  rose  with  some  re- 
mark about  a  boat  to  catch,  but  she  was  scarcely 
aware  of  his  good  night  and  his  going.  Robert, 
however,  relaxed  in  his  chair  and  forgave  the 
world. 

"Nice  to  be  here,"  he  said  contentedly. 
"Funny — I  always  feel  I've  got  home  when  I'm 
here  with  you." 

Sarah's  sky  suddenly  brightened.  She  could 
even  smile  a  little. 

"I'm  a  domestic  sort  of  fellow,  anyway,"  he 
went  on.  "You  wouldn't  expect  it  of  a  busy 
physician,  on  the  go  all  the  time,  but  there  is 
nothing  I  like  better  than — oh,  home,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  You  do,  too,  don't  you?" 

Sarah  would  have  liked  anything  on  earth 
that  was  suggested  to  her  at  that  crisis.  She 
quite  forgot  the  hedge.  They  confided  to  each 
other  their  ideals  of  home,  and  marveled  that 


166  THE  STARLING 

their  tastes  so  coincided,  and  every  moment  the 
subterranean  current  was  sweeping  them  closer 
and  closer,  until  the  final  words  seemed  to  await 
only  the  next  meeting  of  their  eyes.  And  yet, 
when  Robert  rose  to  go,  they  were  still  un- 
spoken. He  only  held  her  hand  a  little  more 
closely  than  usual,  then  went  out  in  unhurried 
serenity,  regally  satisfied  with  things  as  they 
were.  She  stood  for  a  long  time  where  he  had 
left  her,  then  dropped  her  cheek  to  the  hand 
that  still  vibrated.  The  house  seemed  very  still 
and  old  and  empty. 

"I  thought  they  asked  you  sooner,"  said  poor 
Sarah. 

Something  was  bound  to  come  out  of  the 
hurts  and  delights  of  that  momentous  day,  but 
Sarah  had  gone  rather  forlornly  to  bed  before 
the  healing  comfort  began  to  stir.  At  first  she 
refused  to  heed  it ;  she  was  tired  and  unhappy, 
she  did  not  want  to  write.  Ten  minutes  later 
she  was  sitting  up,  wrapped  in  a  comfortable, 
a  blank-book  on  her  knee.  A  love  scene  was 
spinning  itself  before  her  fixed  eyes,  a  gay,  vi- 
brant, man-and-woman  duel ;  and  the  man  was 
a  real  lover,  who  said  all  the  things  that  woman 
would  have  him  say,  under  the  veil  of  lightness 


THE  STARLING  167 

and  laughter  that  made  them  bearable;  while 
the  girl  was  a  queen  of  hearts,  elusive,  mis- 
chievous, and  yet  patently  ready  to  be  deeply 
a  woman  when  caught.  It  was  an  enchanting 
scene,  occurring  about  two-thirds  through  the 
book  that  came  into  being  with  it ;  when  at  last 
Sarah's  head  dropped  back,  she  knew  that  she 
had  only  to  turn  her  pencil  loose,  and  her  lov- 
ers would  build  up  between  them  the  nicest  love 
story  in  the  whole  world,  the  book  of  love-as-it- 
ought-to-be.  When  she  woke  up,  hours  later, 
the  gas  was  blazing  down  on  her  scattered 
sheets  as  it  had  blazed  years  ago  on  her  inspira- 
tion of  "The  Party,"  and  again  reality,  caught 
and  fixed  in  the  dream,  had  been  made  beauti- 
ful. She  put  out  the  light,  and  turned  to  sleep 
again  with  her  cheek  on  the  hand  through 
which  Robert  had  spoken. 

"Wasn't  he  dear !"  she  murmured.    "Oh,  isn't 
it  all  wonderful !" 


VIII 

THE  new  book  consumed  Sarah  like  an  inner 
flame.  She  had  found  the  door  to  delight, 
and  she  was  seldom  on  the  outer  side  of  it.  She 
never  seemed  to  be  making  up  the  story.  It 
was  given  her,  poured  into  her  for  two  or  three 
hours  at  a  time;  then  it  was  as  abruptly  cut  off, 
and  all  the  will  in  the  world  could  not  advance 
the  tale  one  inch.  Robert  came  and  came,  stay- 
ing contented  hours,  but  Sarah  was  no  longer 
in  a  hurry  for  the  words  he  never  quite  said. 
She  could  do  them  so  much  better  by  herself! 
Once  or  twice  she  was  shocked  by  a  sudden  im- 
patience to  have  him  gone,  that  she  might  get 
back  to  the  Robert  of  her  dream. 

She  looked  more  spirit  than  flesh  by  the  time 
the  almond  tree  was  in  blossom  and  Saxe 
brought  her  her  first  big  roll  of  proofs.  She 
had  not  seen  him  since  Christmas,  but  she  had 
not  realized  how  long  that  was  until  she  faced 
the  change  in  him. 

"You  are  working  yourself  to  death,"  she 
scolded.  They  were  sitting  on  a  bench  under 
the  almond  tree,  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the 
168 


THE  STARLING  169 

garden  that  held  the  sun.  Beyond  the  white 
blossoms  was  a  sky  of  burning  blue,  and  a  bor- 
der of  violets  at  their  feet  heaped  up  the  lavish 
sweetness  of  the  California  world.  "Christo- 
pher, what  is  the  sense?" 

No  one  could  have  called  Christopher  good 
looking,  but  he  had  the  nicest  smile  in  the  whole 
world.  It  seemed  to  irradiate  the  creases  in  his 
lean  cheeks ;  the  tired  lines  about  his  eyes  only 
served  to  spread  it.  "What  you  have  been  do- 
ing to  yourself  is  what  I  want  to  know,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"Oh,  I  have  something  to  show  for  it !" 

"Well !"  said  Christopher,  and  brought  out  of 
his  overcoat  pocket  a  very  new  book,  which  he 
laid  on  her  knee.  Across  the  dark  blue  cover 
was  printed,  "GOOD  NEWS!"  and  his  name, 
Christopher  Saxe. 

"I  wanted  to  call  it  Ideals  in  Journalism, 
but  I'd  hate  to  tell  you  what  the  publisher  said 
to  that,"  he  explained.  "And,  after  all,  I  don't 
want  to  kill  the  book.  If  a  good  scream  across 
the  cover  will  make  people  listen,  then  I'll 
scream.  I  want  to  be  heard." 

"Oh,  you  will  be!"  Sarah  was  thrilled  and 
reverent  before  the  book. 

"I  want  the  newspapers  to  scream,  too — but 


170  THE  STARLING 

for  something  worth  hearing,"  he  went  on. 
"Men  are  always  endowing  hospitals  and  libra- 
ries— why  doesn't  some  millionaire  endow  a  big 
daily,  put  the  sanest  men  he  can  get  in  charge 
and  turn  it  loose  ?  A  well  edited  paper  with  no 
private  interests  to  serve,  no  secret  motives — " 
He  pulled  himself  up  with  a  laugh.  "Well,  you 
can  read  all  that  at  your  leisure,"  he  admitted. 

"Oh,  it's  splendid  to  be  you!"  Sarah  ex- 
claimed. "I  feel  like — like  a  poodle — or  a  little 
girl  in  hair  ribbons — beside  you."  Her  hand 
caressed  the  fly  leaf,  on  which  was  written, 
"Sarah,  from  Christopher,"  and  the  date.  "I 
don't  see  why  you  bother  with  me.  My  father  is 
worth  your  while — when  he's  good ;  but,  Chris- 
topher, truly,  I  am  not!"  She  looked  all  ready 
to  efface  herself  on  the  instant,  and  wanted  to 
argue  against  his  smile,  but  he  would  not  take 
her  seriously. 

"Your  father  is  a  brilliant  scholar,"  he  con- 
ceded, "but  when  it  comes  to  sitting  under  an 
almond  tree  with  blossoms  dropping  on  his  hair 
— why,  Sarah,  he  can't  touch  you.  And  he 
couldn't  have  written  Dickery  Dock  to  save  his 
neck.  Why  aren't  you  more  excited  over  your 
first  proofs?" 


THE  STARLING  171 

She  glanced  at  them  remotely  and  shook  her 
head.  "I  am  glad  they  are  there,  but  my  heart 
is  somewhere  else.  I  have  something  to  tell  you, 
Christopher,  something  thrilling!"  She  was 
not  looking  into  his  face,  and  the  sudden  fold- 
ing of  his  arms  across  his  chest  told  her  noth- 
ing. "It  is  a  secret.  Only  my  mother  knows 
it."  She  paused  again,  shy  of  telling  even  him, 
yet  smiling  over  the  fun  of  it  all. 

"Tell  me,  Sarah!" 

Something  in  his  voice  made  her  fear  that 
she  had  led  him  to  expect  too  much,  and  she 
hastened  to  explain. 

"Oh,  it  is  only  another  book — but  such  a  nice 
one!  Far  more  grown  up  than  Dickery.  I 
want  to  call  it  Queen's  Mate.  Do  you  think 
people  know  enough  about  chess  to  get  the 
point?  I  like  the  sound  of  it,  don't  you?  It's 
about — Christopher,  you  aren't  listening!" 

His  arms  had  dropped  and  he  was  looking 
fixedly  away  over  the  top  of  the  hedge  to  the 
bald  line  of  the  foothills,  green  now  against  the 
strong  blue  of  the  sky.  He  did  not  speak  or 
turn,  but  his  hand,  groping,  found  hers  and  held 
it  tightly.  Sarah  was  surprised,  but  whatever 
Christopher  did  was  right  in  her  sight.  When 


172  THE  STARLING 

he  turned  back,  he  was  smiling,  a  little  breath- 
less, like  one  who  comes  up  from  a  plunge  into 
unknown  and  icy  depths. 

"Good  work!"  he  said  cheerfully,  and  gave 
her  hand  a  congratulatory  shake  before  he  let 
it  go.  "When  may  I  see  it?" 

"One  minute  I  am  dying  to  show  it  to  you," 
she  confessed,  "and  the  next  I  don't  see  how  I 
ever  can.  You  see,  it's  a  love  story." 

"I  thought  as  much ;"  he  spoke  grimly.  "Well, 
it  isn't  a  totally  new  subject  to  me,  you  know. 
I  shan't  be  in  the  least  embarrassed." 

"Oh,  you  are  so  dear  and  understanding!" 
Sarah  burst  out.  "I  don't  believe  there  is  any- 
thing one  can't  show  you.  I  have  part  of  it 
typewritten — I  did  it  myself." 

"You?"  He  considered  her  shadowy,  poetic 
face  and  the  big  wave  of  her  hair,  then  amus- 
edly shook  his  head.  "Oh,  no !  I  don't  see  you 
sitting  up  at  a  machine." 

"Come  to  the  attic  and  you  will." 

"The  attic?" 

"You  don't  suppose  we  could  keep  a  type- 
writer where  my  father  could  hear  it?  If  he 
even  knew  it  was  in  the  house,  it  would  drive 
him  crazy.  We  smuggled  it  in  while  he  was  at 


THE  STARLING  173 

the  University,  and  we  put  a  folded  blanket  and 
a  pillow  under  it — oh,  it  has  been  such  a  lovely 
joke!'*  Sarah's  laugh  was  deliciously  young. 
"Once  I  left  the  door  open,  and  he  said  at  din- 
ner that  he  thought  he  had  heard  a  woodpecker. 
Mother  and  I  nearly  exploded." 

Saxe  did  not  find  it  altogether  funny.  "Aren't 
you  cold  up  there?" 

"Oh,  I  wear  a  woolly  bathrobe  with  a  hood, 
and  a  rug  about  my  feet.  I  don't  mind  it  ex- 
cept when  my  hands  get  stiff.  I  learned  out  of 
a  book — the  touch  method.  I  don't  look  at  the 
keys  at  all.  I  really  was  terribly  clever  at  it, 
Christopher."  She  jumped  up.  "Come  and  see 
it !  Come  and  see  me  do  it !" 

Saxe  would  have  gone  anywhere  on  earth 
when  she  summoned  him  like  that,  and  he  did 
not  realize  what  a  perilous  expedition  it  was 
until  they  were  embarked.  Sarah  left  him  in 
the  hall  while  she  flew  up  to  consult  her  mother ; 
then  the  latter  greeted  him  in  dumb  show  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs  and  signaled  for  a  cau- 
tious ascent.  Communication  was  limited  to 
vivid  smiles  until  all  three  were  in  the  attic, 
but  they  made  no  apologies.  Their  behavior 
evidently  did  not  seem  to  them  unusual. 


174  THE  STARLING 

"Safe!"  Sarah  rejoiced. 

The  attic  was  not  Mrs.  Cawthorne's  idea  of 
safety.  She  stood  just  inside  the  door,  her  skirt 
wound  tightly  about  her  and  a  ready  hand  on 
the  knob,  while  Sarah  uncovered  the  typewriter 
and  showed  Saxe  its  perfections. 

"Of  course,  you  probably  have  seen  one  be- 
fore," she  suddenly  remembered,  ready  to  laugh 
at  herself,  but  Saxe  remained  grave. 

"You  make  me  feel  as  if  I  had  not,"  he  said. 
"I  have  been  taking  mine  as  a  matter  of  course, 
quite  forgetting  that  it  is  a  wonder,  a  little 
miracle.  I  shall  go  back  to  it  with  new  vision." 

"Play  something,  dear,"  said  her  mother  ab- 
sently, nervous  eyes  roving  the  corners. 

Sarah  went  over  to  her,  kissed  her,  and 
pushed  her  gently  through  the  door.  "You  wait 
for  us  down-stairs,"  she  said  with  mothering 
compassion. 

"Well,  dear — I  am  likely  to  scream  any  min- 
ute if  I  stay,"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  admitted,  offer- 
ing an  apologetic  smile  to  Saxe  through  the 
closing  door. 

Sarah  came  back  concerned  only  with  show- 
ing off  her  new  accomplishment,  and  seated  her- 
self before  the  machine  under  the  skylight.  A 


THE  STARLING  175 

long  slant  of  sunshine,  crossing  the  brown  dusk, 
spilled  gold  on  the  edges  of  her  hair ;  when  she 
lifted  her  face,  closing  her  eyes  to  prove  her 
good  faith  with  the  touch  method,  she  might 
have  been  a  young  St.  Cecelia  playing  her  harp- 
sichord. Saxe  dropped  down  on  the  camphor- 
wood  chest  against  the  wall  and  watched  her 
over  folded  arms.  The  kind  little  American 
mother  who  had  gone  down-stairs  did  not  dream 
how  the  shadowy  old  cave  of  a  place  would 
evoke  the  primitive  man;  but,  knowing,  she 
would  only  have  been  sorry,  and  gone  without 
fear.  Her  innocence  had  a  wisdom  above  that 
of  worldly  experience. 

Sarah  thought  she  could  do  it  a  little  faster 
when  she  was  alone. 

"I  pretended  I  didn't  know  you  were  there, 
but,  of  course,  I  did,"  she  explained,  pulling  out 
the  sheet.  "There  are  several  mistakes.  I  have 
written,  'Nuns  fret  not  at  their  convent's  nar- 
row roon.'  But,  still — that  isn't  so  bad  for  a 
beginner.  Come  and  see  it." 

"So  you  did  remember  that  I  was  here!" 
Saxe  spoke  harshly,  not  moving. 

Sarah  saw  at  once,  with  mortified  clearness, 
that  she  had  been  rude  and  egotistical,  using 


176  THE  STARLING 

her  guest  simply  as  an  audience,  and  she  of- 
fered earnest  apology.  "You  are  so  sympathetic 
— I  forget,  and  bore  you.  It  is  your  own  fault, 
Christopher.  You  have  spoiled  me,"  she  ac- 
cused him,  a  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"Oh,  good  God !"  he  muttered,  and  rose  to  his 
feet  as  though  man  could  bear  no  more.  "Sa- 
rah, don't  you  understand?  How  can  you  be 
such  a  blind  bat?" 

It  was  not  at  all  like  love  in  books:  he  was 
hostile,  scolding  her;  and  yet  in  a  flash  Sarah 
did  understand.  If  he  had  kept  alive  a  spark 
of  hope,  her  distress  would  have  quenched  it. 

"Oh,  no,  Christopher!" 

"Why  not?  Oh,  I  know — you  don't  care  a 
red  cent  for  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  speak,  but 
there  are  human  limits — "  A  sigh  shook  him 
like  a  sob.  His  voice,  rough  and  strange  to  her, 
seemed  to  be  tearing  its  way  through  physical 
barriers.  "You  needn't  say  anything.  If  I  had 
found  you  first — you  are  everything  in  the 
world  that  I  love  best  in  a  woman.  .  .  . 
Oh,  I  could  have  made  you  care!  That  is  the 
unbearable  part  of  it,  that  is  what  kills  me. 
.  .  .  I  have  lost  you  by  such  a  little!"  His 
hands  closed  on  hers  as  though  he  would  drag 


THE  STARLING  177 

her  spirit  to  him  by  main  force,  but  at  their 
touch  all  the  fight  went  out  of  him,  for  the  ter- 
rified blood  had  receded,  leaving  them  deathly 
cold  and  helpless.  "You  poor  little  child,"  he 
muttered,  trying  to  warm  them  between  his.  "I 
have  frightened  you  half  to  death.  I'm  sorry, 
sorry.  But  you  had  to  know  it,  sooner  or  later. 
I  couldn't  help  it." 

The  sudden  kindness  hurt  intolerably.  She 
caught  away  her  hands  to  hide  her  face. 

"Oh,  no,  no !"  she  breathed. 

He  drew  up  a  chair  beside  her,  trying  for 
her  sake  to  make  it  seem  less  momentous. 

"Dear  Sarah,  if  you  had  not  been — preoccu- 
pied, you  would  have  seen  it  long  ago.  I  won't 
belittle  it,  even  to  comfort  you ;  but  I  can't  bear 
it  if  you  are  going  to  suffer,  too.  Sarah,  if  you 
cry,  I  shall!" 

She  fought  for  composure,  and  he  waited 
until  she  could  lift  her  head.  She  was  never  to 
forget  that  first  look  that  passed  between  them. 
She  had  not  known  that  there  was  an  intimacy 
like  this,  full  of  grave  trust  and  unashamed 
sorrow. 

"You  wanted  life,"  he  reminded  her,  as 
though  she  might  reproach  him  for  disturbing 


178  THE  STARLING 

her  peace.  "You  see,  it  can  come  in  through 
the  hedge." 

Sarah  still  could  not  quite  believe  her  senses. 
"You  wanted  to  marry  me,  Christopher?" 

"Yes." 

The  unadorned  word  had  an  eloquence  that 
wrung  her. 

"I  haven't  meant  to,"  she  faltered.  "I  have 
always  thought  you  were  the  nicest  man  in  the 
whole  world.  And  that  was  all." 

"That  is  something.  I  shall  carry  it  away 
with  me." 

"Away?" 

He  had  evidently  not  meant  to  open  that  sub- 
ject, for  he  hesitated  until  she  repeated  her 
frightened  question: 

"You  are  not  going  away?" 

"Yes."  He  straightened  up  and  went  ahead 
with  it.  "I  am  going  out  to  the  Orient." 

"Oh,  no!" 

"Why  not,  Sarah?" 

She  had  no  answer  for  that  except  her  own 
unlawful  despair,  so  she  said  nothing. 

"I  have  finished  here,"  he  went  on.  "My  book 
is  out,  I  am  free.  They  are  offering  me  a  good 
position  on  the  paper,  but — I  am  tired  of  the 


THE  STARLING  179 

cable  cars,  I'm  sick  of  the  telephone!  The  far 
East  will  feel  quiet  and  different.  And  there 
is»  plenty  of  work  for  me  to  do  out  there.  I  can 
place  a  series  of  articles  any  time.  Yes,  I  want 
to  go." 

He  was  miles  away  from  her  already,  at  home 
in  strange  lands  that  would  never  be  more  than 
names  to  her,  meeting  new  experiences,  loving 
some  new  girl  while  she  stayed  at  home  in  her 
green  cage.  Sarah's  heart  seemed  to  break 
audibly  in  the  sob  that  flung  her  down  on  her 
new  manuscript. 

"I  can't  bear  it,"  she  said,  over  and  over.  "I 
shall  never  get  out.  I  can't  bear  it!"  She  had 
not  cried  so  since  her  childhood,  but  she  felt  no 
shame.  The  protest  came  pouring  out  from  be- 
hind her  clasped  arms.  "You  are  the  first 
friend  I  ever  had — and  now  you  are  going 
away.  My  book  will  come  out — but  you  won't 
be  here — or  care.  You  can  go — wherever  you 
like — all  over  the  big  gorgeous  world — while 
I  have  to — just  wait — and  wait — and  wait — 
Oh,  it  is  not  fair,  Christopher,  it  is  not  fair!" 

He  had  listened  rigidly,  but  there  was  no  syl- 
lable that  could  mean  hope  for  him.  Perhaps 
he  guessed  what  that  bitter,  "and  wait — " 


180  THE  STARLING 

meant,  for  he  did  not  move  or  speak  until  she 
had  sobbed  herself  quiet,  and  then  he  was  only 
a  kind  friend,  reasonable  and  little  aloof. 

"Your  book  will  bring  you  new  friends,  Sa- 
rah, dozens  of  them.  No  hedge  can  keep  them 
out.  Of  course,  I  shall  wander  back  some  day, 
and  then  we  will  have  a  beautiful  time.  I  am 
not  going  to  write  to  you — if  I  can  help  it.  It 
is  the  only  way.  I'm  sorry,  but  I  have  been 
through — oh,  everybody  knows  what  it  is,  I 
suppose.  Now  I  must  get  back  to  town."  He 
rose,  then  reconsidered,  his  eyes  on  her  bent 
head.  "No — suppose  I  read  a  chapter  or  two  of 
the  new  book,"  he  said  more  gently.  "There 
won't  be  time  to  send  it  to  me ;  and  I  can't  go 
without  knowing  something  about  it.  You  are 
never  to  forget  that  I  discovered  you,  Sarah 
Cawthorne." 

She  knew  that  he  was  giving  her  time  to  re- 
cover from  her  storm  before  she  faced  him,  and 
his  consideration  nearly  made  her  cry  again. 
She  handed  him  the  typewritten  chapters  in 
silence,  then  put  all  her  will  into  tranquillizing 
her  shaken  body.  An  hour  ago,  she  could  not 
have  stayed  in  the  room  while  he  read  her  work ; 
now,  in  their  new  intimacy,  she  loved  sitting 


THE  STARLING  181 

there  beside  him,  within  reach  of  his  hand, 
hearing  the  quiet  turning  of  the  leaves.  He  was 
reading  all  that  she  had  typed.  The  light  grew 
so  dim  that  he  had  to  hold  the  manuscript  high 
up  toward  the  skylight,  but  she  felt  his  grow- 
ing interest,  and  would  not  break  in  on  it  by 
getting  a  light.  When  at  last  he  laid  down  the 
pages,  they  could  scarcely  see  each  other's 
faces. 

"Well?"  Sarah  asked,  as  he  did  not  speak. 

"Oh,  it  is  good,  charming,  far  ahead  of  the 
first;"  his  tone  was  hurried,  absent.  "It  will 
sell  by  the  million.  Oh,  yes — you  won't  have 
any  difficulty  with  that.  Just  go  ahead.  It  is 
what  people  want." 

She  was  puzzled,  straining  her  eyes  to  read 
in?  his  face  what  he  was  not  saying.  "Well, 
then — ?"  she  repeated. 

"It's  all  right.  Just  go  ahead  like  that.  Con- 
gratulations !" 

"But  you  are  not  saying  something,"  she  in- 
sisted. 

He  flung  up  his  long  arms  with  a  smothered 
shout  of  joy.  "Sarah,  you  don't  know  the  first 
thing  about  love!  You  know  the  pretty  game, 
the  flirtation,  the  instinctive  play — you're  wav- 


182  THE  STARLING 

ing  a  white  hand  from  a  high  lattice — but,  my 
beloved  little  girl,  you  have  never  touched  love 
— you  have  only  dreamed  dreams.  You  are  not 
awake !" 

Sarah  was  mortally  offended.  She  disliked 
at  any  time  to  be  called  "young" ;  but  to  have 
the  deepest  experience  of  her  heart  denied  and 
derided  was  intolerable. 

"I  am  sorry  to  contradict  you,  but  you  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  she  said, 
keeping  a  precarious  politeness. 

He  was  exalted  beyond  the  reach  of  snubs. 
"Oh,  don't  I!  You  write  prettily,  delightfully, 
about  'making'  love,  but  it  is  all  from  the  throat 
up.  Man's  desire  and  woman's  need — you  don't 
know  any  more  about  them  than  you  did  the 
night  of  your  first  party.  You  are  not  in  love 
with  that  man !" 

"I  am!"  she  flung  back,  and  then  grew  hot 
all  over  with  shame  and  wrath.  "You  had  no 
right  to  make  me  say  that,"  she  accused  him 
sternly.  "I  shall  not  forgive  it.  I  am  glad  you 
are  going  away." 

"I  am  not  going  away."  His  joy  was  dashed, 
but  he  still  triumphed.  "I  shall  stay  right 
here." 


THE  STARLING  183 

They  faced  each  other  like  enemies. 

"I  won't  see  you.  You  can  never  come  here 
again." 

"As  you  say."  He  was  angry,  too.  "I  cer- 
tainly am  not  coming  against  your  will.  But 
I  will  not  go  away  till  the  day  you  marry  some 
one  else.  Do  you  understand  that?" 

Her  answer  was  caught  back,  and  she  lifted 
a  hand  in  warning.  Her  trained  senses  had 
heard  a  step  inaudible  to  him.  She  crossed  to 
the  door  and  opened  it. 

"Your  father  has  gone  out  to  walk,  dear,  so 
it  is  a  good  time  to  come  down,"  her  mother 
suggested.  "Doesn't  Mr.  Saxe  want  tea?" 

"No ;  he  has  to  go  now.  He  has  been  reading 
my  new  story,"  Sarah  explained,  glad  of  the 
dimness  that  veiled  them. 

"Oh,  doesn't  he  think  it  is  beautiful?"  She 
turned  eagerly  to  Saxe,  and  his  assent  satisfied 
even  her. 

"I  have  never  read  a  story  that  gave  me  more 
pleasure,"  he  said,  challenging  eyes  on  Sarah. 
She  turned  away  with  the  rudest  little  shrug 
she  could  achieve. 

"You  have  been  most  kind,"  she  said  with  the 
edges  of  her  lips. 


184  THE  STARLING 

And  so  he  went,  and  Sarah  tried  to  cover  her 
shameful  admission  by  hating  him,  and  being 
cool  to  Robert.  It  was  a  sore-hearted  and  angry 
time.  The  lovers  in  her  new  book  quarreled 
bitterly — but  oh,  how  deliciously  they  made  up ! 


IX 


IN  theory,  when  ladies  are  cool,  lovers  are  the 
more  ardent,  a  retreat  heightens  the  pur- 
suit; but  Robert's  emotions  had  no  regard  for 
tradition.  He  turned  cool  himself,  and  took 
Dosia  Warren  to  the  theater.  And  though  they 
presently  made  it  up,  he  kept  a  faintly  guarded 
air,  as  if,  having  failed  him  once,  Sarah  might 
again  lapse  from  the  perfect  admiration  that 
was  her  charm. 

Sarah,  looking  on  at  his  bodily  splendor,  the 
sunny  geniality  of  his  heart  (when  no  one  had 
stupidly  wounded  it),  his  growing  importance 
in  his  profession,  the  charm  that  lay  in  the  way 
he  rolled  a  cigarette  or  threw  back  his  head 
when  he  laughed — Sarah,  seeing  all  these 
things,  cried  in  her  aching  heart,  "If  this  isn't 
love,  then  what  is  love?"  Yet  the  hateful  accu- 
sation stuck  like  a  burr,  it  forced  her  to  think. 
Heretofore  she  had  kept  Robert  in  a  sealed 
niche,  as  some  people  keep  their  religion,  pro- 
tected from  the  action  of  their  brains  and  used 
only  for  emotional  purposes.  Now  she  began 
to  ask  herself  formal  questions  about  him — 
185 


186  THE  STARLING 

questions  that  could  be  triumphantly  answered. 
He  was  a  good  son,  a  man  of  upright  life, 
kindly,  truthful,  a  hard  worker — think  how  one 
could  describe  him  in  a  letter!  Of  course  she 
loved  him.  She  would  have  loved  him  for  his 
provable  fine  qualities  even  if  he  had  lacked  his 
bodily  charm.  "From  the  throat  up" — what 
on  earth  did  that  mean?  Her  love  might  be 
love  in  the  bud  as  yet,  but  it  would  burst  into 
full  flower  the  first  time  he  took  her  into  his 
arms  and  kissed  her. 

She  felt  now  that  she  had  not  long  to  wait 
for  that  moment.  Something  as  potent  as  a 
love  philter  was  being  prepared  for  her  at  full 
speed,  three  thousand  miles  away.  She  had 
said  little  about  Dickery  Dock,  and  Robert  had 
not  seemed  to  take  in  the  fact  of  her  coming 
authorship,  so  now  she  hid  it  until  she  could 
lay  her  gift  in  his  hands.  It  was  to  be  a  mo- 
ment of  grave  beauty.  Sarah  always  adored 
the  scene  wherein  the  wife  confesses  to  the 
moved  and  utterly  unprepared  husband  the  se- 
cret of  her  coming  motherhood,  and  she  fore- 
saw the  offering  of  Dickery  Dock  as  a  miniature 
replica  of  that  lovely  revelation.  Perhaps  Sa- 
rah's father  was  right  about  her  sense  of  hu- 


THE  STARLING  187 

mor ;  but  surely  it  was  better  to  have  so  reliable 
and  loving  a  heart ! 

On  the  day  that  the  ten  author's  copies  came, 
Mrs.  Cawthorne  was  in  bed.  She  stayed  in  bed 
much  more  than  usual  this  spring,  but  so  casu- 
ally, paying  so  little  attention  to  where  she 
was,  that  her  family  had  not  realized  the 
change.  The  books,  opened  on  the  counterpane 
beside  her,  had  a  hundred  charms;  even  the 
smell  was  enjoyable.  And  the  cover  was  not 
bad  at  all,  when  you  considered  what  awful 
covers  some  books  had. 

"  'By  Sarah  Cawthorne/ "  she  read  aloud. 
"I  am  glad  I  lived  to  see  that.  You  funny  little 
girl — growing  up  into  an  author !" 

"It  is  a  joke,  isn't  it!"  Sarah  admitted.  "But 
I  haven't  people  enough  for  so  many  copies." 

"Well,  there  is  your  Aunt  Sadi.  And  Robert 
— you  will  give  him  one,  won't  you?" 

Would  she!  Sarah  smiled  to  herself,  with  a 
leap  of  the  heart.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said  casually. 

"And  Mr.  Saxe,  of  course." 

The  very  name  could  scorch.  Sarah  had  not 
yet  learned  to  live  with  the  memory  of  what  she 
had  told  Christopher  Saxe.  It  had  obliterated 
all  that  had  gone  before  that  moment.  Only  the 


188  THE  STARLING 

speediest  possible  declaration  from  Robert  could 
legitimatize  it  and  wipe  away  the  shame. 

"It  would  please  Nelly  tremendously  if  I  gave 
her  one,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  dear!  And  there  is  my  copy,  and 
yours — and  your  father's?" 

"No,"  said  Sarah,  and  then,  hearing  his  step 
in  the  hall,  started  up  to  close  the  door;  but 
she  was  too  late. 

He,  also,  had  a  book  in  his  hand. 

"Sarah,  I  have  just  run  across  this  book — by 
your  lanky  friend  Saxe,"  he  said,  coming  in. 
"The  man  is  no  fool ;  why,  I  agree  with  almost 
everything  he  says.  He's  got  an  old  subject, 
but  he  handles  it  with  an  inspired  common 
sense.  I  should  like  to — Hello!  What  is  all 
this?" 

"My  book;"  Sarah  spoke  defiantly  and  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  stiffened  among  her  pillows,  but  he 
did  not  notice.  He  had  picked  up  a  copy  with 
an  amused  glimmer  that  deepened  as  he  turned 
the  pages,  reading  a  line  here  and  there.  It  was 
very  hard  to  bear.  A  passive  blankness  was 
the  best  that  Sarah  could  do.  Inwardly  she  for- 
got to  go  on  breathing  until  he  closed  the  book, 
holding  it  off  at  arm's  length. 


THE  STARLING  189 

"The  cover  suggests  a  valentine — a  valentine 
designed  by  a  German  pastry  cook,"  he  ob- 
served. "Well,  I  suppose  you  will  get  some  fun 
out  of  it  now,  and  later  you  can  live  it  down. 
Rather  a  pity  to  have  used  your  own  name." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne's  face  had  flamed.  "Sarah's 
book  will  do  more  good  in  the  world  than  all 
your  dry  old  writings  put  together !"  she  burst 
out. 

He  looked  in  surprise  from  the  red  mother  to 
the  pale  daughter.  "Have  I  trodden  on  the  sus- 
ceptibilities of  the  young  author?  Well,  it  will 
do  you  good,  Sairy.  Prepare  you  a  little  for 
what  is  coming.  Wait  till  the  reviewers  get 
after  you !"  And  he  limped  away  with  an  inter- 
nal chuckle. 

"Oh,  he  is  the  worst!"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  ex- 
claimed. "Don't  mind  him,  darling." 

Sarah  pressed  the  thought  of  Robert  to  her 
heart.  "Oh,  I  don't  mind  anything,"  she  said. 

All  day  she  watched  for  Robert,  and  all  the 
next  day,  not  daring  even  to  go  to  the  attic  lest 
Nelly  should  inadvertently  say  she  was  out.  The 
following  day  she  almost  forgot  him,  for  the 
mail  brought  an  intimation  of  the  coming  mira- 
cle— the  second  great  adventure  of  her  life. 


190  THE  STARLING 

"So  that  is  what  you  have  been  doing  inside 
your  hedge,"  Dosia  wrote.  "I  saw  your  name 
in  the  papers  yesterday,  in  letters  a  foot  high. 
I  have  not  read  the  book  yet,  but  I  am  looking 
forward  to  it.  Meanwhile,  won't  you  take 
luncheon  with  me  very  informally  next  Friday 
at  half  past  one?  Several  of  your  old 
friends — "  and  so  on. 

Sarah  accepted  the  advance  as  an  unalloyed 
and  most  touching  kindness,  and  flew  over  to 
the  city  to  pick  up  what  she  could  in  the  way  of 
personal  adornment.  There  was  no  time  to 
have  anything  made,  but  she  was  not  a  person 
whose  clothes  mattered  very  much.  Her  bodily 
grace  dominated  them.  When  she  came  back 
through  the  hedge,  hurrying  as  always  lest 
something  had  happened  to  her  mother,  Robert 
was  leaving  the  house,  and  she  had  time  for  a 
long  look  at  him  before  he  was  aware  of  her. 

Robert  was  low  in  his  mind.  His  hands 
sagged  in  his  pockets,  his  foot  kicked  at  the 
gravel.  Even  the  sight  of  her  did  not  cheer  him. 

"Oh,  Sarah!"  he  said  unsmilingly.  "You 
weren't  in,  so  I  sat  a  while  with  your  mother." 
He  seemed  to  be  accusing  her  of  something. 


THE  STARLING  1S1 

"Oh,  then  she  told  you  about  my  book!"  Sa- 
rah was  dreadfully  disappointed.  "I  meant  to 
surprise  you  with  it." 

"I  saw  it  announced  in  the  papers."  His 
frown  deepened.  "Sarah,  do  you  have  to  put 
up  with  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"What  thing?" 

"The  abominable  publicity.  Having  your 
name  displayed  like  a  breakfast  food.  I  can't 
tell  you  what  a  shock  it  gave  me.  You  surely 
don't  like  it!" 

Her  native  truthfulness  had  never  come 
harder.  "I  am  afraid  I  do,"  she  said  miserably. 
"I  have  been  so  cooped  up — it  is  like  having  a 
part  of  me  get  out,  don't  you  see?" 

Robert  was  not  to  be  appeased.  "I  suppose 
I  am  old-fashioned,"  he  said  stiffly,  "but  there  is 
something  sacred  to  me  about  a  girl's  name. 
If  girls  only  understood  how  men  feel  about  that 
sort  of  thing,  they  wouldn't  be  in  such  a  hurry 
to  rush  into  print,  I  can  tell  you." 

With  any  one  else,  Sarah  would  have  argued 
that;  but  she  hated  to  prove  Robert  in  the 
wrong.  When  her  case  was  too  good,  she 
changed  the  subject. 


192  THE  STARLING 

"They  won't  advertise  much,"  she  reassured 
him.  "It  is  such  a  harmless  little  book — noth- 
ing that  any  one  need  mind.  I  have  a  copy  for 
you.  Won't  you  come  in  and  get  it?" 

He  came  with  a  poor  grace.  Even  the  "Rob- 
ert from  Sarah"  on  the  title  page  did  not  touch 
him.  The  book's  presence  between  them  seemed 
to  make  him  uneasy;  he  was  not  like  himself 
until  it  had  been  thrust  into  a  pocket. 

"I  shall  begin  to  write  in  about  fifteen  years," 
he  said  then,  with  a  clearing  brow.  "My  books 
won't  be  novels,  though." 

"Of  course  not!"  Her  warm  voice  admitted 
the  inferiority  of  novels,  and  after  that  they 
had  a  very  nice  time ;  but  it  was  cruelly  unlike 
the  scene  that  Sarah  had  awaited. 

"Love  isn't  very  satisfactory  except  when 
you  are  all  by  yourself,"  she  admitted  sadly 
after  her  young  lord  had  gone. 

Girls  to  whom  a  luncheon  is  a  matter  of 
course  or  even  a  bore  could  not  understand 
how  Sarah  lay  burning  awake  the  night  before, 
how  she  rode  out  into  the  morning  on  a  charger 
with  a  streaming  tail,  how  her  heart  failed  her 
and  she  longed  to  get  out  of  it,  how  she  agonized 
lest  boats  and  cars  be  delayed,  and  so  had  to 


THE  STARLING  193 

walk  the  neighborhood  for  an  agitating  half- 
hour  because  she  was  too  early — and  then  man- 
aged to  be  ten  racking  minutes  late.  The  draw- 
ing room  was  a  blur  of  faces  and  voices,  and 
Sarah,  clutched  by  an  insane  fear  that  she  might 
not  know  Dosia  when  she  saw  her,  crossed  the 
sill  with  the  same  grave,  pale  composure  that 
she  would  have  shown  on  the  steps  of  the  scaf- 
fold. And  then  the  miracle  began. 

"Well,  Sarah!"  "Well,  Sarah  Cawthorne!" 
"Sarah,  I  read  it  last  night  and  it  is  perfectly 
sweet!"  Three  old  acquaintances  had  magically 
become  three  old  friends.  Their  ancient  indif- 
ference had  given  them  glamour  for  the  little 
Sarah ;  she  found  their  present  enthusiasm  daz- 
zling. And  it  made  the  strangers  look  at  her 
with  interest,  so  that  when  Dosia  put  in  a  dry, 
"Dear  me,  Sarah,  how  does  it  feel  to  be  an  au- 
thor?"— the  true  answer  would  have  been, 
"Like  heaven !" 

"But  it  is  such  a  very  little  book,"  she  warned 
them  earnestly. 

They  laughed  as  though  she  had  said  some- 
thing witty,  or  wicked.  Then  Dosia  put  an  arm 
through  hers  and  led  her  to  the  place  of  honor. 
/ !!  during  that  enchanted  luncheon  the  talk 


194  THE  STARLING 

kept  its  face  to  her.  She  did  not  say  much — 
she  did  not  have  to;  they  had  an  air  of  taking 
her  value  for  granted  while  they  proved  their 
own;  and,  so  protected,  she  found  the  hedge 
rolling  back  like  a  heavy  mist,  leaving  her  in 
brilliant  sunshine.  She  made  no  distinctions 
among  the  guests:  they  were  people — at  last, 
people !  When  they  asked  her  to  come  to  lunch- 
eon or  to  tea,  she  accepted  everything.  And 
Dosia  looked  on  with  a  small  wise  smile  under 
the  eyelashes  that  were  no  longer  too  pale  for 
beauty. 

"Sarah  can't  trail  over  to  the  city  every  other 
day,"  she  interposed.  "But  she  is  coming  to 
spend  a  week  with  me  before  long,  and  you  can 
all  ask  her  then/' 

"Oh,  Dosia!"  Sarah  was  overwhelmed. 

"Of  course,  it  is  one  for  you,  Sarah,  and  two 
for  me — they  will  have  to  invite  me  as  well," 
Dosia  explained,  and  something  in  her  cool 
competent  voice  brought  a  momentary  chill,  a 
consciousness  of  forces  not  understood  and  per- 
haps not  benign.  For  the  moment,  it  was  a 
relief  to  say  that  she  could  not  leave  her  mother. 

"Bring  her,  too,"  said  Dosia.  "She  shall  have 
a  sunny  room  and  be  just  as  quiet  as  she  likes. 


THE  STARLING  195 

Mother  will  write  and  ask  her.  I  always  liked 
your  mother.  She  has  great  charm." 

The  glow  returned.  "It  is  too  good  to  be 
true,"  said  Sarah,  "but  I  love  your  thinking 
of  it." 

Dosia  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  amused 
scrutiny.  "I  am  going  to  make  a  lion  of  you," 
she  said,  dropping  her  voice. 

"Why,  Dosey?"  The  impulsive  question  had 
an  ungracious  echo  in  her  own  ears,  and  she 
would  have  caught  it  back;  but  Dosia  never 
denied  that  she  had  her  reasons. 

"Well,  you  count  now — for  one  thing:  you 
will  shed  a  luster  on  me,"  she  said,  resting  her 
chin  on  clasped  hands,  white  and  jeweled. 
"To  meet  Miss  Sarah  Cawthorne' — that  will 
be  quite  an  asset  if  they  go  on  advertising  you 
at  this  rate." 

She  had  spoken  only  for  Sarah,  and  Sarah 
recognized  with  a  thrill  of  gratification  that  this 
candor  would  never  be  for  the  others.  Dosia 
could  trust  her  with  it,  as  she  had  trusted  her 
the  day  they  met  in  the  square.  Her  compact  and 
efficient  brain  recognized  a  brain  worthy  to  re- 
ceive her  discoveries.  The  swirl  of  her  red 
gold  hair,  perfectly  arranged,  her  charming 


196  THE  STARLING 

clothes  and  her  air  of  maturity,  made  her  a  fig- 
ure of  importance  among  these  other  girls.  She 
did  not  need  to  talk  to  them,  and  she  seemed  to 
know  it,  merely  keeping  them  going  with  an 
occasional  adroit  touch.  Sarah  put  by  what 
she  had  said,  to  be  mastered  later. 

"Tor  one  thing/"  she  repeated.  "Then 
there  is  another  thing?" 

Dosia  laughed  a  little.  "You  are  much  too 
clever,"  she  observed,  turning  back  to  her 
other  guests. 

The  invitation  came  the  next  day,  and  for  an 
exalted  half-hour  Mrs.  Cawthorne  thought  that 
she  could  do  it.  Then  she  gave  it  up,  sinking 
back  relievedly  among  her  pillows. 

"Oh,  Bunny,  I  can't ;  but  I  don't  want  to  hear 
any  nonsense  about  not  leaving  me,"  she  de- 
clared, her  spirit  still  erect  and  laughing.  "You 
are  too  good — that  is  your  one  fault.  I  won't 
have  such  a  model  daughter." 

"But  I  want  you  to  go,  mother!" 

"Oh,  I  don't — I  can't.  You  go,  and  I  will  get 
in  Janet  McGowan." 

Sarah  was  troubled.  "But  she  won't  know 
the  things  you  mind  the  way  I  know  them." 

"I  will  tell  her  without  shame." 


THE  STARLING  197 

"But,  dearest,  having  a  trained  nurse  will 
make  you  think  you  are  ill." 

"Nonsense !  Janet's  massage  will  be  good  for 
me,  and  her  gossip  even  better.  I  shall  know 
more  about  what  is  going  on  than  you  will  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  I  can  assure  you.  Sit  down 
there  and  write  that  you  will  come,  and  at  the 
same  time  write  to  Janet.  Mind  your  mother 
without  arguing." 

Sarah  rose  and  put  on  the  garden  hat  that 
she  had  thrown  off  when  she  ran  up-stairs  with 
the  letter. 

"I  shall  telephone  and  find  out  if  Janet  Mc- 
Gowan  will  be  free  before  I  write  one  word," 
she  announced. 

"I  should  hate  to  be  as  unselfish  as  you  are," 
was  her  mother's  comment;  but  the  eyes  that 
followed  her  were  adoring. 

Janet  could  come,  clothes  were  commanded; 
for  two  hours  every  day,  when  her  mother  sup- 
posed she  was  writing  on  her  book,  Sarah  was 
in  a  studio  a  mile  away,  taking  dancing  lessons. 
Writing?  That  power  had  gone  out  as  though 
it  had  never  existed.  She  looked  at  her  manu- 
script remotely,  with  a  vague  distaste,  and 
finally  tumbled  it  into  the  camphor-wood  chest 


198  THE  STARLING 

and  closed  the  lid  on  it.  She  was  living  in  the 
week  ahead  as  she  had  once  lived  in  the  coming 
party,  and  her  mother  never  tired  of  the  topic, 
but  Robert  met  it  at  first  with  reserve,  then 
with  definite  objection. 

"I  like  Dosia — I  admire  her,"  he  conceded; 
"but  a  man  of  the  world  knows  how  to  discount 
a  lot  that  she  says.  The  hedge  has  kept  you 
like  something  precious,  Sarah.  I'd  hate  to 
have  you  change."  It  was  spoken  almost  like  a 
lover,  and  Sarah's  heart  ran  to  meet  his.  They 
were  sitting  in  the  sun  on  the  front  steps,  and 
the  spring  radiance  was  on  the  old  garden. 

"I  shan't  change,  Robert.  At  least,  I  shan't 
throw  away  anything  that  you  like,"  she  prom- 
ised gravely.  That  left  him  a  perfect  answer — 
"So  you  care  what  I  like,  Sarah!"  She  had 
always  a  lighting  vision  of  what  he  might  say, 
side  by  side  with  the  disappointing  actuality. 

"You  can't  tell  what  you  will  do  with  a  lot  of 
people  flattering  you  and  making  a  fuss  over 
you,"  he  said,  frowning.  "I  have  had  three 
cards  with,  'To  meet  Miss  Sarah  Cawthorne* 
on  them."  He  uttered  that  like  an  accusation, 
and  Sarah,  for  the  first  time  in  their  history, 
was  moved  to  make  gentle  fun  of  him. 


THE  STARLING  199 

"I  advise  you  to  accept,"  she  said.  "She  is  a 
rising  young  author,  well  worth  meeting." 

"A  busy  physician  has  little  time  for  social 
life,"  was  the  stiff  answer. 

"But  the  busy  physician  has  read  the  book, 
hasn't  he?"  She  had  tried  to  say  that  on  sev- 
eral previous  visits,  but  had  never  been  able  to 
get  it  out.  Now  it  came  of  itself,  naturally, 
without  visible  tremor. 

It  was  Robert  who  was  embarrassed.  "Oh, 
yes — yes.  I  meant  to — to  speak  of  it."  He  was 
strangely  constrained.  "I  thought  it — very 
sweet,  very  nice.  I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  judge 
of  novels — but — but — a  very  nice  little  story, 
I'm  sure.  I  don't  suppose  I  read  a  novel  once 
in  ten  months.  There  is  always  a  pile  of  medi- 
cal journals — "  He  edged  off  from  the  subject 
with  evident  relief,  and  Sarah  in  her  kindly 
politeness  helped  him  to  escape  it  altogether. 
She  did  not  understand,  yet  she  dimly  recog- 
nized that  if  he  had  not  liked  the  book,  he  could 
have  told  her  so  at  perfect  ease ;  it  was  having 
to  praise  that  so  disturbed  him. 

"I  can't  read  or  do  anything  sensible  with 
Dosia  ahead  of  me,"  she  confessed.  "Robert, 
you  will  come  to  the  big  tea  on  the  eighteenth, 


200  THE  STARLING 

won't  you  ?  People  don't  fall  ill  on  Sunday.  It 
is  to  be  at  the  Klondike  Warrens'.  Aren't  they 
good,  when  they  don't  know  me  at  all?  I  want 
you  to  come  to  that." 

"I  can  come  for  a  little  while,  I  suppose,"  he 
conceded.  "But  don't  count  on  me  for  any 
dances.  I  hate  dancing." 

"The  girls'  hair  always  gets  in  your  mouth," 
she  finished  it  for  him,  with  a  rush  of  laugh- 
ter. But  he  had  forgotten,  and  looked  an 
amazed  question. 

"I  could  go  to  a  dance  every  other  night  if  I 
cared  to  waste  my  time  that  way,"  he  held 
forth.  "I  don't  see  why  they  keep  on  asking 
me,  but  they  do.  I  suppose  because,  when  I  do 
go,  I  brace  up  and  play  the  game.  But  when  I 
get  home,  I'm  pretty  apt  to  say,  'What's  the 
use?'" 

"Pleasure  is  worth  while,  Robert!" 

"If  it  is  pleasure.  I  find  the  average  girl 
very  tiresome.  She  can't  talk  of  anything  but 
herself.  You  are  too  good  for  that'  crowd, 
Sarah!" 

"Well,  is  there  a  better  crowd  that  I  could 
get?" 

"I  don't  see  what  you  want  of  a  crowd.  We 
are  having  a  pretty  nice  time,  aren't  we?" 


THE  STARLING  201 

"Here?" 

"Yes — you  and  I — here." 

It  was  coming.  Now,  this  minute,  with  no 
more  preliminary  than  that.  His  eyes  said  it, 
his  hand,  taking  hers  from  her  knee,  repeated 
it.  She  had  only  to  admit  that  it  was  good 
enough,  staying  here  with  him,  and  the  glory 
of  love  would  descend  upon  them.  He  held  it 
off,  consciously,  awaiting  her  decision.  No 
words  were  needed ;  the  air  rang  with  his  silent 
demand.  All  the  traditions  of  love  and  the 
world  well  lost  gave  her  only  one  answer;  and, 
because  her  honest  heart  could  not  make  it,  she 
burst  out  with  a  reproach : 

"You  ought  to  want  me  to  go,  Robert!  I 
have  been  so  shut  in — you  ought  to  be  glad  that 
I  can  get  out !" 

One  did  not  lightly  reprove  Robert.  The  pen- 
alty was  immediate  and  severe.  Love  with- 
drew, and  he  released  her  hand. 

"I  hope  you  will  have  a  very  nice  time,"  he 
said  formally,  rising.  His  eyes  were  those  of  a 
stranger.  "Remember  me  to  Miss  Warren,  will 
you  ?  Now  I  must  run."  He  lifted  his  hat  and 
turned  away. 

"Robert !"  It  was  more  than  a  reproach — it 
was  a  stern  and  righteous  rebuke. 


202  THE  STARLING 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

Sarah  was  shocked  to  the  foundations.  This 
was  the  first  trouble  with  Robert  for  which  she 
could  not  take  the  entire  blame,  and  it  hurt 
dreadfully.  "You  are  behaving  very  badly," 
she  told  him. 

Robert,  his  nose  well  lifted,  was  inspecting 
the  sky-line.  "I  am  sorry,"  he  said  with  ex- 
treme courtesy,  and  then,  as  Mrs.  Cawthorne 
opened  the  front  door,  he  went  without  a  relent- 
ing glance. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Cawthorne  read  his  retreating 
back.  She  sat  down  on  the  step  beside  her 
daughter,  and  her  "Well,  dear?"  opened  the 
way  to  any  communication  one  cared  to  make. 

Sarah  was  glowering  over  her  doubled  fists. 
"Oh,  mother,  I  do  think  men  are  unsatisfac- 
tory!" 

"Absolutely,"  was  the  cheerful  answer.  "But 
they  are  the  only  thing  we  have  got  in  that 
line."  Her  eyes  fell  on  a  small  gray  man,  limp- 
ing up  the  drive.  "We  might  as  well  make  the 
best  of  them." 

"But  they  could  so  easily  be  everything  we 
want,"  Sarah  exclaimed.  "Some  of  them  must 
be.  The  lovers  in  books  can't  be  all  lies." 


THE  STARLING  203 

"If  ladies  wrote  them,  they  are,"  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne  began,  then  caught  herself  up.  "Write 
them  as  they  should  be,  darling,  as  women  want 
them.  Maybe  they  will  learn,"  she  said  hope- 
fully. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  was  too  near  for  any  more  on 
that  topic.  They  waited  for  him,  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne making  room  on  the  step  in  case  he 
wanted  to  join  them.  She  never  got  over  the 
longing  to  present  a  family  effect.  He  halted  in 
front  of  them,  leaning  on  his  stick,  wicked  eyes 
on  his  daughter. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  dear 
friend  R-R-Robert?"  He  loved  to  stammer  over 
that  name.  "If  he  had  had  a  horse  out  there,  he 
would  have  kicked  it.  As  it  was  only  a  poor 
dumb  car,  he  couldn't  do  anything  but  jam  its 
levers." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  always  stood  up  for  Robert ; 
but  lately  her  defense  had  lost  its  enthusiasm, 
and  she  had  often  a  troubled  and  incredulous 
eye  for  her  daughter. 

"Oh,  Robert  would  not  hurt  any  living  thing," 
she  said  absently. 

"Unless  it  was  a  1-1-lady,"  he  suggested. 
"What  I  like  especially  about  that  young  man 


204  THE  STARLING 

is  that  he  has  the  courage  of  his  feelings.  If 
he  is  disturbed  in  his  mind,  he  will  never  de- 
ceive you  with  a  false  blitheness,  I'm  that  way, 
too.  It's  a  bond  between  us.  We  don't  pre- 
tend." 

"You  certainly  don't,"  agreed  his  wife  with  a 
faint  sigh.  "Perhaps  that  is  why  we  do.  Per- 
haps some  one  has  to,  dear !" 

Mr.  Cawthorne  mounted  the  steps  to  go  in. 
"I  hate  being  called  'dear,' "  he  observed  ge- 
nially. 

"I  know,  you  do,  Stephen!"  She  spoke  with 
quick  apology.  Sarah  had  turned  on  him  a 
blaze  of  silent  anger,  but  Mrs.  Cawthorne  was 
wholly  without  resentment.  "It  is  a  stupid  old 
•habit.  I  don't  really  mean  it,  you  know !" 

He  smiled  at  that,  and  she  actually  laughed. 
She  was  still  amused  after  the  door  had  closed 
on  him.  Sarah  could  not  bear  it. 

"That  was  the  most  brutal  thing  I  ever  heard 
a  man  say,"  she  burst  out,  striking  the  step  with 
clenched  fists.  "He  ought  to  be  killed  for  it, 
mother !" 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  looked  on  at  her  wrath  with 
loving  compassion.  "I  think,  darling,  a  good 
many  men  are  like  your  father,  underneath," 


THE  STARLING  205 

she  said  mildly ;  "only  their  wives  don't  let  them 
say  it,  or  even  recognize  it  to  themselves.  Men 
are  not  created  like  women,  you  know.  But,  of 
course,  a  really  able  and  clever  woman  makes 
them  think  they  are.  That  is  civilization,  dear. 
Now  do  you  want  to  come  and  get  some  roses? 
The  Gloire  de  Dijon  is  out." 

"Oh,  I  don't  understand  life,  I  don't  under- 
stand anything,"  Sarah  muttered,  and  went  for 
the  scissors. 

Since  no  human  experience  is  permitted  to  be 
perfect,  Sarah  had  to  carry  a  heartache  with 
her  to  the  city;  but  it  must  be  admitted  that 
she  frequently  forgot  it.  Dickery  Dock  and  its 
new  California  author  seemed  to  be  blazoned 
on  everything  that  could  carry  print,  and  Dosia 
fulfilled  the  promise  to  make  a  lion  of  her  with 
a  skill  and  lavishness  that  caused  Sarah  to  cry 
more  than  once,  "Why,  Dosey?  Why?" 

"For  you  don't  need  me,"  she  argued,  using 
Dosia's  language.  They  were  up-stairs  in 
dressing-gowns,  lounging  over  a  cup  of  tea — 
girls  together,  just  as  Sarah  had  dreamed  it 
all  these  years.  "And  you  don't  want  me  to 
love  you.  I  could,  but  it  would  bore  you 
frightfully.  You  know  everybody,  go  every- 


206  THE  STARLING 

where — what  can  a  mild  little  lionette  like  me 
do  for  you  ?" 

"I  am  having  a  good  time  out  of  it — for  one 
thing,"  Dosia  maintained. 

"But  you  never  say  what  the  other  thing  is," 
said  Sarah,  and  they  laughed. 

"Now  you  want  to  know  who  is  coming  to- 
night," Dosia  said,  as  though  they  had  no  more 
time  to  waste  on  generalities.  She  treated  the 
visit  like  a  campaign  and  did  nothing  without  a 
reason.  "There  will  be  only  six  of  us — father 
and  mother  are  going  over  to  Aunt  Clara.  I 
thought  that  would  be  better.  George  Moore  is 
for  you.  He  adores  poetry  and  his  father  is 
Moore  and  Conklin.  He  would  be  a  very  good 
person  for  you."  Sarah's  startled  laugh 
showed  her  ready  to  take  that  humorously,  but 
Dosia  was  entirely  serious.  "You  will  get  on 
with  him — he  has  a  great  deal  of  sentiment.  He 
can't  endure  me.  The  Tommy  Harveys  have 
never  read  a  book  through  in  their  lives,  but 
they  have  two  stunning  houses — they  are  good 
people  for  you  to  know.  And  then  Mr.  Hurd 
for  me.  He  is  a  big,  burly,  common  old  thing, 
but  he  gives  me  tips  on  the  stock  market." 

"Stock  market,  Dosey!" 


THE  STARLING  207 

"Rather.  I  doubled  my  allowance  last  year." 
Dosia  put  down  her  teacup  and  dropped  back 
on  the  couch,  stretching  a  satin  slipper  to  the 
fire.  Chiffon  sleeves  fell  back  from  the  child- 
ishly soft  arms  she  clasped  behind  her  red-gold 
head.  Everything  about  her,  from  the  lace  that 
crossed  her  breast  to  the  rather  conventional 
luxury  of  her  surroundings,  made  her  thrill- 
ingly  a  fine  lady  in  Sarah's  eyes;  and  yet — "I 
ought  to  have  been  a  man,"  she  said  impa- 
tiently. "I  could  run  things!" 

"But  you  do,"  Sarah  argued.  "You  run 
everything  and  everybody,  including  your  fam- 
ily and  the  stranger  that  is  within  your  gates. 
What  more  do  you  want?" 

"Oh,  power,  I  suppose — for  one  thing." 

The  phrase  made  them  laugh  again. 

"And  not — love?"  Sarah's  voice  dropped 
reverently  over  the  word.  She  was  suddenly 
homesick  for  Robert. 

Dosia's  eyes  narrowed  to  two  brown  slits. 
"Oh,  yes,  love,"  she  said  in  businesslike  assent. 
"We  don't  all  take  it  like  melted  moonlight,  but 
the  curse  is  on  us.  That  is  why  I  wish  I  were 
a  man." 

"But  men  love!" 


208  THE  STARLING 

"Yes — and  take — and  go  their  ways.  Our 
role  is  so  abominably  indirect  and  slow.  The 
feminine  attitude — modest  waiting — does  exas- 
perate me  so." 

"But  would  men  like  it,  Dosey,  if  we  made 
the  advances?" 

"No.  But  why  is  what  they  like  more  im- 
portant than  what  I  like?"  Dosia  kicked  an  im- 
patient slipper  at  the  laws  of  life.  "Oh,  I 
would  cut  out  the  whole  thing  if  I  could.  But  a 
woman  never  amounts  to  anything  until  she 
marries  and  gets  it  off  her  mind.  Then  she  is 
free  to  go  ahead,  she  can  become  somebody." 
Dosia  rose.  "Now,  my  young  lion,  we  must 
dress.  Ring  for  Suzanne  when  you  want  help." 

"Oh,  but  I  want  to  talk,"  Sarah  pleaded; 
"about  love  and  men  and  power  and  all  the 
things  we  don't  agree  on.  You  shock  me  to 
death,  you  know — only  you  are  so  interesting, 
I  have  to  put  off  the  shock  until  I  understand 
better." 

"I  wouldn't  understand  too  well,"  advised 
Dosia,  turning  on  the  lights  above  the  dressing 
table.  "You  are  undoubtedly  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter person  than  I — in  the  sight  of  Heaven.  I 
warn  you,  I  am  not  a  fine  character." 


THE  STARLING  209 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Sarah  stoutly.  "Look 
what  you  have  done  for  me." 

Dosia  gave  her  an  odd  glance  in  the  mirror. 
"Well,  I  have  got  George  Moore  for  you,"  she 
said,  as  though  answering  herself.  "Now  run 
along.  I  will  share  with  you  the  secrets  of  my 
soul,  but  not  of  my  toilet." 

"Well,  send  word  when  I  may  come  back;" 
and  Sarah  dragged  herself  away.  She  did  not 
need  an  hour  to  dress,  and  could  not  conceive 
how  one  extended  it  over  so  simple  a  process. 
If  nature  had  not  been  very  good  to  Sarah,  giv- 
ing her  bodily  grace  and  hair  that  waved  natu- 
rally into  place,  her  excellent  clothes  would  have 
availed  her  little,  for  she  seldom  knew  what  she 
was  doing  when  she  put  them  on.  She  did  not 
dream  over  here  as  she  did  at  home — that 
power  had  gone  out  as  though  it  had  never  ex- 
isted ;  but  she  had  so  much  to  think  about  that 
she  had  scarcely  time  to  feel.  Her  quarrel  with 
Robert  was  a  grievous  wound — and  yet  George 
Moore  did  sound  interesting! 

"I  wonder  if  I  am  shallow?"  she  asked  her- 
self, then  gave  it  up  and  could  not  help  being 
happy.  People — every  day,  people! 

Dosia  would  have  made  a  brilliant  press 


210  THE  STARLING 

agent.  Every  newspaper  reader  in  the  city 
presently  knew  that  Sarah  was  there,  and  who 
was  entertaining  her.  Sarah  flatly  refused  to 
be  interviewed,  but  Dosia  talked  to  the  report- 
ers, and  even  managed  to  present  one  without 
explaining  him.  (It  was  he  who  described 
Sarah's  face  as  perpetually  "lit  by  sunlight 
coming  through  live  oaks.")  The  book  shops 
telegraphed  their  reorders  for  Dickery  Dock, 
and  by  Sunday  it  was  a  matter  of  social  impor- 
tance to  be  invited  to  the  Warrens'  reception. 

"Talk  of  Cinderella!"  Sarah  spoke  solemnly 
as  the  motor  took  them  up  the  hills  Sunday 
afternoon.  "All  I  asked  was  to  get  out  through 
the  hedge.  I  never  dreamed  of  asking  to  be 
famous." 

"Well,  don't  you  like  it?"  Dosia  asked. 

Sarah  thought  that  over.  "The  fuss  over  my 
book  makes  me  a  little  ashamed,"  she  con- 
fessed. "My  father  says  it  is  trash,  and  all  the 
time  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  they  think  so, 
too.  I  imagine  fame  is  something  that  hap- 
pens to  other  people,  don't  you  ?  It  would  never 
be  quite  true,  for  one's  self.  But  it  does  make 
them  want  to  know  me,  and  I  adore  that.  Oh, 
friends,  Dosey!" 


THE  STARLING  211 

"You  are  a  queer  child."  Dosia  was  looking 
on  at  her  earnestness  with  good-humored 
amusement.  "I  can't  decide  whether  you  are 
a  little  girl  of  forty  or  a  mature  woman  of 
twelve.  You  are  all  theory  as  yet.  You  live 
entirely  in  your  head." 

There  it  was  again — from,  the  throat  up. 
Sarah  flushed  resentfully. 

"That  is  all  you  know  about  it,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  you  have  had  tremendous 
affairs  —  alone  by  yourself,"  Dosia  conceded. 
"But  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  can  hap- 
pen, Sarah  Cawthorne !" 

Sarah  had  a  rueful  thought  that  with  Robert 
nothing  really  did  happen.  Then  the  forbid- 
den memory  of  Saxe  in  the  dusky  attic  leaped 
into  her  mind  and  stayed  there,  in  spite  of  her 
shamed  recoil.  She  had  slammed  the  door  shut 
on  the  experience  before  its  significance  had 
been  revealed  to  her ;  now,  going  back  over  the 
scene,  she  began  to  discern  some  big  secret 
that  she  had  not  known  at  the  time.  Something 
more  than  romance  and  affection  had  hovered 
over  her  like  a  shadowy  presence,  something 
grimly  unadorned,  as  real  as  thirst,  or  death. 
Whenever  she  went  back  to  the  attic,  the  pres- 


212  THE  STARLING 

ence  would  be  there,  waiting  for  her.  The  knowl- 
edge had  no  words,  but  it  shook  her  bodily.  A 
blaze  of  excitement  followed,  but  she  did  not 
want  to  talk  any  more  about  affairs,  and  what 
could  happen. 

"It  is  too  wonderful,"  she  cried,  turning 
away  from  the  window.  "I  don't  mean  the 
bay  and  these  glorious,  loping  old  streets,  up 
and  down — I  mean  the  houses,  with  some  one  I 
know  or  am  going  to  know  every  few  blocks, 
and  some  one  to  bow  to  every  time  we  go  down- 
town. People,  Dosey!  Dozens,  streets  full  of 
men  and  women,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  of 
them  coming  this  afternoon  to  make  friends! 
I  have  got  three  friends  started — for  George 
Moore  does  like  me,  and  Constance  Whitney, 
and  Isabel  Olmstead.  I  tell  you,  they  like  me! 
The  hedge  is  down!"  Then,  as  they  pulled  up 
before  marble  pillars,  shyness  suddenly  clutched 
her.  "Please  stay  near  me,"  she  begged  as  they 
went  in. 

The  most  sophisticated  good  taste  that  money 
could  buy  had  beautified  the  Klondike  Warrens' 
palace,  and  the  two  simple,  hearty,  incongruous 
figures  lived  complacently  among  their  treas- 
ures, remembering  with  some  trouble  what  was 


THE  STARLING  213 

what,  and  as  undisturbed  by  their  footmen  or 
their  fine  guests  as  they  had  been  by  the  min- 
ers that  had  swarmed  the  boarding-house  of 
their  dark  ages.  They  showed  Sarah  the  massed 
flowers  in  the  drawing-rooms  and  the  feast  in 
the  dining-room  as  simply  as  though  she  were  a 
patron  who  had  given  an  order,  and  whom  they 
hoped  they  had  pleased.  Their  unconscious- 
ness of  how  very  good  it  was  of  them  troubled 
her  courteous  soul.  She  tried  to  tell  them,  but 
the  shyness  was  growing  worse  every  moment, 
and  her  speech  was  stiffening  into  conventional 
phrases.  Before  she  could  fight  it  down,  other 
girls  arrived  to  help  receive,  and  the  company 
was  coming  in  through  the  hedge. 

It  was  very  strange — it  was  unspeakably  dis- 
heartening. The  history  of  the  first  party 
seemed  to  be  repeating  itself.  The  little  din- 
ners and  theater  parties  of  the  past  week  had 
been  made  easy:  seated  between  friendly  souls, 
turned  toward  her,  Sarah  had  been  lured  out 
so  pleasantly  that  the  process  seemed  as  nat- 
ural as  blooming  to  a  flower.  Now  she  was  con- 
fronting a  new  test — the  real  test,  and  the  kind- 
ly preparation  went  for  nothing.  She  could  not 
do  it.  The  guests  were  charming  to  her,  but 


214  THE  STARLING 

she  could  not  talk  to  them  at  a  moment's  notice 
as  they  talked  to  one  another,  and  so  they 
passed  on  to  their  own  friends,  leaving  her 
alone  in  the  center  of  the  party.  Klondike  mil- 
lions had  made  an  imposing  setting,  and  the 
easy,  richly  dressed  guests  accepted  themselves 
as  what  the  newspapers  call  society,  but  Sarah 
was  unawed  by  externals;  a  country  gathering 
in  a  hospitable  kitchen  would  have  seemed  to 
her  as  hopelessly  inaccessible.  The  hedge  had 
lasted  too  long.  She  could  never  carry  freedom 
with  the  ease  of  those  who  had  grown  up  in  it. 
She  was  a  failure,  a  stick. 

And  then,  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
crowd — just  as  he  had  come  years  ago — came 
Robert.  Sarah  saw  him  from  the  other  end 
of  the  great  room,  and  her  day  was  saved. 
From  the  throat  up,  indeed — when  her  heart 
was  leaping  like  a  dervish  in  her  side!  He 
was  a  long  time  in  making  his  way  to  her,  for, 
of  course,  every  one  stopped  him,  and  she  did 
not  once  look  toward  him,  but  her  eyes  shone, 
her  laugh  came  easily,  she  could  talk  now — 
because  it  mattered  so  little  what  happened, 
with  Robert  coming.  And  so  people  lingered 


THE  STARLING  215 

and  a  group  formed,  and  suddenly  she  was  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  party — she,  Sarah. 

Dosia  stood  quietly  at  one  side,  and  now 
Robert  was  talking  with  her,  not  ten  feet 
away.  Sarah  could  wait.  It  was  good  that  he 
should  see  how  brave  and  gay  she  was  with 
girls  and  men,  that  he  should  be  a  little  proud 
of  her  even  as  she  was  proud  of  him.  She 
piled  it  high  for  him  before  she  turned  to  get 
her  reward. 

Neither  Dosia  nor  Robert  was  there.  Sarah 
had  been  feeling  his  presence  like  a  living  cur- 
rent, yet  he  was  nowhere  in  sight.  As  soon 
as  she  could  break  away,  she  moved  through 
the  rooms,  looking  for  him.  She  had  to  find 
him.  She  could  have  run  shrieking  his  name. 
The  great  romance  of  her  life  seemed  to  be  slip- 
ping through  her  fingers ;  she  could  not  bear  it. 

Robert  was  not  in  the  drawing-rooms  or  the 
dining-room;  then  she  saw  Dosia  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  front  door.  Their  eyes  met, 
but  Dosia's  seemed  to  deny  the  encounter.  She 
was  busy  receiving  good  nights  when  Sarah 
reached  her  side. 

"Oh,  Sarah,  I  was  looking  for  you,"  she  said 


216  THE  STARLING 

at  once.  "Good  night,  Mrs  Perry.  You  were 
dear  to  come.  Sarah,  Robert  Russell  was  here, 
but  he  could  not  get  at  you,  you  were  so  sur- 
rounded. Oh,  good  night,  Frank.  He  left  his 
regards  for  you ;  he  had  to  run  off.  Good  night, 
Miriam.  Yes,  Sarah  is  leaving  me  to-morrow 
— isn't  it  hateful  of  her?  You  know  Miss 
Clarke,  Sarah." 

The  long  years  of  hiding  her  tumultuous  emo- 
tions had  armored  Sarah  for  such  moments. 
No  one  could  have  suspected  the  fainting  sick- 
ness behind  her  graceful  composure.  Dosia 
was  not  waiting  for  an  answer;  she  had  not 
even  looked  at  Sarah.  The  good  nights  kept 
them  occupied  until  only  the  family  was  left. 
They  were  to  dine  there  informally. 

"Well,  Miss  Sarah,  how  does  it  feel  to  be 
famous?"  Mr.  Klondike  Warren  was  looking 
down  on  her  with  large  kindly  approval. 

Her  lips  said,  of  course,  that  it  felt  perfectly 
wonderful.  She  could  not  tell  him  that  no 
earthly  glory  mattered,  since  Robert  Russell 
had  not  come  and  spoken  to  her. 

With  a  good  night's  sleep,  Sarah  might  have 
been  able  to  resurrect  the  glory.  Years  later, 
she  would  drag  out  the  old  experience  and  make 


Suddenly  she  was  in  the  very  heart  of  the  party. 


THE  STARLING  217 

it  a  shining  wonder  for  her  children,  a  tale  of 
a  little  book  that  had  slipped  like  a  carrier 
pigeon  through  the  hedge,  and  brought  a  city- 
f ul  of  people  to  greet  her ;  for  her  imagination 
was  a  lavish  vine  and  would  beautify  all  the 
road  behind  her,  and  run  forward  to  blossom 
up  the  very  pillars  of  death.  But  her  dream- 
power  was  to  be  given  no  chance  that  night, 
though  they  left  early. 

"Sarah  must  have  one  good  long  sleep,  or 
her  mother  will  never  let  her  come  again," 
Dosia  explained  when  the  car  called  for  them 
at  nine  o'clock.  She  had  not  spoken  directly  to 
Sarah  all  the  evening,  and  in  the  motor  she 
talked  with  her  mother  and  father  while  the 
guest  leaned  back  in  her  corner.  Her  "Good 
night!"  and,  "Sleep  well!"  were  publicly  said, 
in  the  hall,  and  Sarah,  having  expressed  what 
a  polite  and  appreciative  guest  should  feel,  shut 
herself  in  to  make  what  she  could  of  the  day's 
failure. 

No  warm  rush  of  poetry  came  to  her  aid 
now.  She  did  not  want  healing  comfort;  her 
young  soul  stood  erect  and  cried  for  under- 
standing. Bed  and  the  dark  could  not  help 
her.  When  the  night  was  half  gone,  she  threw 


218  THE  STARLING 

a  dressing-gown  about  her  and  went  to  Dosia's 
room. 

Dosia  had  not  gone  to  bed.  She  sat  at  a 
table  drawn  up  before  her  fire,  luxuriously 
wrapped  and  surrounded,  but  with  a  pile  of 
typewritten  and  printed  papers  before  her,  re- 
ducing them  to  a  report.  She  made  Sarah  po- 
litely welcome,  but  Sarah  had  gone  past  the 
need  of  phrases. 

"Dosia,  I  want  to  understand,"  she  said,  com- 
ing to  look  into  the  fire  as  though  it  could  help. 
"I  have  got  to  understand.  Suppose  a  man  loves 
you — loves  you  quite  unmistakably.  It  is  in  his 
eyes,  his  hands,  he  almost  says  it.  Then  can 
he  get  over  it,  all  in  a  minute?  Can  he  love  you 
one  day  and  not  love  you  the  next?" 

Dosia  carefully  dried  her  pen  before  laying 
it  down.  "I  should  say  that  was  his  long  suit," 
she  observed. 

Sarah  shook  her  head  as  though  to  forbid 
flippant  words. 

"You  say  things  like  that — but  I  am  in  earn- 
est. I  have  got  to  know.  Is  it  true?" 

"Yes.  It  is  the  first  thing  you  learn.  You 
are  so  amazed  that  nothing — from  a  man — ever 
surprises  you  again."  Dosia  put  aside  the  table 


THE  STARLING  219 

and  met  the  issue  squarely.  "Robert  Russell 
could  not  love  any  one  who  took  the  center,"  she 
said.  Sarah  started,  then  stood  very  still,  lest 
she  check  what  was  coming.  Robert  had  never 
been  discussed  between  them.  "He  can't  for- 
give it.  That  is  why  he  doesn't  go  out  more — 
he  can't  be  sure  of  being  always  in  the  center. 
He  probably  loved  you  while  you  were  inside 
your  hedge,  but  when  you  wrote  a  book  and 
came  out,  you  ended  it.  He  won't  forgive  you." 

Sarah  was  too  astonished  for  pain.  "But 
that  is  too  unworthy,"  she  exclaimed.  "That 
is  vanity,  egotism — it  isn't  generous.  If  it  is 
true,  I  could  not  love  him.  " 

The  indictment  only  made  Dosia  smile.  "You 
don't  love  Robert,"  she  said. 

The  fiery  "I  do!"  sprang  to  Sarah's 
lips,  but  faltered  there.  She  had  come  to  learn, 
not  to  fight.  "Why  don't  I  ?"  she  asked  instead. 

"You  are  only  charmed  by  him.  You  would 
give  him  up  for  the  first  serious  flaw  you  found 
in  his  character." 

"Mustn't  one  love — worthily?" 

Dosia  shrugged.  "I  don't  live  on  that  high 
plane.  To  me  it  is  enough  that — "  She  stopped, 
but  not  in  time. 


220  THE  STARLING 

"Then  you  love  him,  Dosia  ?"  They  faced  each 
other  stripped  of  pretenses. 

"I  suppose  it  is  that.    I  want  to  marry  him." 

"You  can  say  these  terrible  things  of  him, 
and  still  want  to  marry  him?" 

"Yes." 

"I  don't  understand!" 

"There  are  things  you  will  never  understand, 
Sarah.  They  are  all  rather  ugly,  perhaps;  I 
wouldn't  try.  I  can  give  you  reasons,  if  you 
want  them.  He  is  successful ;  presentable — one 
can  be  proud  of  him  on  the  street;  he  won't 
give  me  very  much  trouble — I  know  exactly 
how  to  keep  him  contented ;  I  want  the  married 
position.  He  will  do  very  well.  Voila!" 

"Is  that  all?" 

Their  eyes  met  with  a  shock  of  understand- 
ing. 

"No,"  said  Dosia  shortly. 

Sarah  turned  back  to  the  fire,  and  presently 
made  a  fresh  discovery  there. 

"So  that  was  the  other  thing,"  she  exclaimed. 
"That  was  why  you  invited  me,  Dosia — why 
you  wanted  to  make  a  lion  of  me.  You  knew 
Robert,  and  so  you  did  that?" 

There  was  no  bitterness  in  the  question,  no 


THE  STARLING  221 

reproach — only  the  passionate  desire  to  have 
it  all  clear ;  but  Dosia  flushed. 

"I  only  hastened  matters,"  she  insisted. 
"Robert  had  begun  to  suspect  your  brains,  and 
he  was  uneasy.  He  tells  me  things,  you  know 
— more  than  he  means  to.  And  he  can't  forgive 
brains  in  a  woman." 

"But  you  have  brains —  more  than  I !" 

It  was  hopeless  to  make  her  understand.  "Oh, 
child,  what  if  I  have?  I  can  drop  them  when 
I  please.  Intellect  doesn't  matter  to  me  as  it 
does  to  you;  I  don't  have  to  express  my 
thoughts.  I  shall  get  him  if  I  can.  Very  pos- 
sibly I  can't.  What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

For  the  first  time  Sarah  winced.  "Oh,  don't!" 
she  breathed,  as  though  something  a  little  too 
dreadful  had  been'  said. 

"Well,  you  wanted  the  truth,"  Dosia  re- 
minded her. 

Tears  rushed  to  Sarah's  eyes.  "It  is  so 
ugly !"  she  cried,  and  went  blindly  away. 

Dosia  rose,  as  though  to  follow,  but,  after  a 
thoughtful  moment,  she  dropped  back  again. 
Presently  she  drew  up  the  table  and  went  on 
with  her  report. 


ANY  change  could  kindle  Mrs.  Cawthorne's 
animation.  Even  having  Sarah  go  and  a 
nurse  take  her  place  was  momentarily  stimulat- 
ing, and  she  waved  Sarah  off  so  gaily  that  the 
girl  could,  for  once,  drop  her  sense  of  responsi- 
bility. For  two  days  the  elation  supplied  a 
fictitious  strength.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  and  Janet 
McGowan  took  an  excursion  on  the  cars,  they 
shopped,  they  "almost  made  candy,"  as  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  wrote  Sarah.  Then  the  stimulus 
suddenly  failed  and  the  worn  body  went  down, 
down,  till  it  seemed  ready  to  drop  apart  with 
weakness.  Janet,  hiding  grave  concern  under 
Nova  Scotian  briskness,  would  have  sent  for 
the  doctor,  but  Mrs.  Cawthorne  forbade  that. 

"I  am  only  resting,"  she  explained.  "I  keep 
up  so  for  Sarah — it  is  good  to  have  a  really 
flat  rest.  You  do  what  you  are  told,  Janet 
McGowan.  And,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  make 
me  keep  up  for  you!" 

She  knew  herself  that  something  was  seri- 
ously wrong,  but  she  feared  that  if  she  called  in 
222 


THE  STARLING  223 

either  Doctor  Russell  or  his  son  the  news  might 
get  to  Sarah,  and  she  would  not  risk  that. 

"She  would  come  home  by  the  next  boat — the 
darling!"  she  thought  it  out  and  waited  in 
loving  patience  for  the  week  to  wear  itself 
away.  The  days  grew  very  long,  the  nights 
were  haunted  and  uneasy.  Janet  had  Sarah's 
room  and  would  come  at  a  touch  on  the  wall, 
but  there  was  nothing  tangible  to  excuse  dis- 
turbing her.  Janet  did  all  that  an  outsider 
could — but  Sarah  was  inside,  she  knew  with- 
out telling.  The  longing  for  her  rose  to  her 
mother's  lips  like  a  cry,  day  and  night,  but  she 
kept  it  crushed  back. 

"You  are  worse  than  the  hedge,"  she  scolded 
herself,  one  restless  night;  "or  you  would  be 
if  I  would  let  you."  Then  her  own  words  came 
back  to  her  like  a  blighting  discovery.  She  lay 
very  still  in  the  dark  to  face  it.  If  Sarah  found 
out  what  this  week  had  been,  she  would  never 
leave  her  mother  again.  The  hedge  was  a  pal- 
try barrier  compared  to  the  wall  that  would  be 
sealed  by  her  need  and  Sarah's  love.  And  she 
had  judged  Sarah's  father  for  the  hedge. 

"But  I  can  hide,"  she  argued  eagerly.  "I 
will  say,  'Oh,  hello,  Sarah !  Why  did  you  come 


224  THE  STARLING 

back  so  soon?  Janet  and  I  are  having  a  lovely 
time !' '  She  tried  that  over  and  over,  but  could 
not  make  it  sound  convincing.  "You  have  got 
to,"  she  told  herself  stoutly.  "You  must  be  off- 
hand and  casual  as  well  as  up  and  dressed.  She 
is  to  go  every  blessed  chance  she  gets — you 
remember  that,  Lisa  Cawthorne.  A  bad  old 
man  in  the  family  is  quite  enough;  we  are  not 
going  to  have  a  bad  old  woman,  too.  It  can  be 
done.  If  you  give  her  one  glimpse  of  how  glad 
you  are,  I'll  kill  you !"  Her  arms  went  out,  her 
face  quivered  into  tears.  "Oh,  I  won't  swallow 
up  your  youth,  my  little  Sarah,"  she  wept.  "You 
would  give  it  to  me,  whole;  but  I  am  just  good 
enough  not  to  take  it."  The  breeze  from  the 
open  window  rustled  a  paper  in  the  waste 
basket,  and  she  started  up  with  a  cry;  but  by 
the  time  Janet  McGowan  had  answered,  she 
was  laughing. 

"That  old  waste  basket  is  always  playing 
jokes  on  me,"  she  explained.  "Yes,  move  it, 
but  go  back  to  sleep  as  fast  as  you  can.  I  am 
all  right." 

Only  Sarah  could  have  known  how  shaken 
she  was,  and  Janet  returned  peacefully  to  bed. 
When  she  had  had  time  to  fall  asleep,  Mrs. 


THE  STARLING  225 

Cawthorne  stole  to  her  medicine  cabinet  and 
took  down  a  box  innocently  labeled  Bicarbonate 
of  Soda. 

"It  can't  be  any  worse  for  me  than  lying 
awake  and  screaming,"  she  argued  as  the  first 
dizzying  wave  of  oblivion  floated  her  off. 

The  week  was  easier  after  that,  her  duty  was 
so  clear.  By  Sunday  she  was  even  practising 
her  attitude  on  her  family. 

"I  believe  Sarah  is  coming  home  to-morrow," 
she  said  casually  to  Mr.  Cawthorne  when  he 
came  out  into  the  garden  where  she  was  sit- 
ting. It  was  a  wonderful  spring  for  roses: 
they  massed  their  glowing  faces  against  every 
available  wall,  they  sprayed  up  in  fountains 
from  every  round  bed,  and  waved  from  trel- 
lises, and  thrust  in  their  heads  at  open  win- 
dows, till  it  seemed  as  though  they  had  taken 
possession  of  the  world.  Janet  McGowan  was 
cutting  them  for  the  house,  frequently  bringing 
some  irresistible  beauty  to  lay  on  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne's  knees.  "At  least,  I  think  she  is  coming 
Monday,"  she  amended. 

Perhaps  she  hoped  that  Mr.  Cawthorne  might 
show  a  little  of  the  joy  that  she  was  forced  to 
hide,  but,  of  course,  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 


226  THE  STARLING 

The  communication  did  not  even  reach  his  at- 
tention. He  stood  before  her  savoring  some 
coming  wickedness  until  she  went  to  meet  it 
with  a  patient — 

"Well?" 

He  produced  a  newspaper  clipping.  "I'm 
keeping  this  for  Sairy,"  he  observed,  laying  it 
on  her  roses. 

It  was  headed  "Joy-writing."  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne  needed  only  the  opening  sentence,  "An- 
other happy  little  stranger  is  in  our  literary 
midst,"  and  her  husband's  expression. 

"Some  penny-a-liner  who  couldn't  publish 
his  own  books  to  save  his  neck,"  she  said  hotly, 
crumpling  the  slip  in  her  hand.  "Sarah  shan't 
see  it ;  she  gets  all  the  snubbing  she  needs  from 
her  father.  This  is  what  I  am  saving  for  her." 
And  she  brought  out  another  clipping,  headed 
enthusiastically,  "A  fresh  note  in  fiction — 
Dickery  Dock  full  of  charm — Young  California 
author — " 

Her  wrath  and  the  clipping  amused  him 
equally. 

"You  used  to  be  a  pretty  fair  judge  of  litera- 
ture before  your  daughter  took  her  pen  in 
hand,"  he  said.  "Curious,  how  motherhood  can 


THE  STARLING  227 

sap  the  intelligence.  George  Washington  was 
right — we  should  keep  clear  of  entangling  alli- 
ances. Only  it  wasn't  Washington — I  believe 
it  was  Jefferson."  He  took  a  tea  rose  from  her 
knee  and  put  it  in  his  buttonhole.  "I  have  nev- 
er seen  the  garden  look  better,"  he  added. 

They  talked  about  the  roses,  idly,  without 
much  interest.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  had  been  lux- 
uriating in  them  before  he  came.  It  was 
strange,  how  he  could  blight  her  world.  After 
he  had  limped  complacently  back  to  his  study, 
the  sunshine  was  chilled,  the  spring  rapture 
had  become  a  mere  matter  of  plants.  Even 
Sarah's  coming  was  no  longer  a  song  in  her 
heart.  What  sea-creature  was  it  that  could 
turn  the  water  in  its  vicinity  black? 

"Haven't  I  stayed  up  long  enough?"  she 
begged  of  the  nurse. 

Janet  lured  her  into  a  stroll,  and  presently 
the  sun  was  back  in  the  heavens  and  Sarah 
coming  in  the  morning.  That  evening  an  im- 
portant summons  was  delivered  to  Janet,  and 
Mrs.  Cawthorne  insisted  that  she  obey  it.  The 
poor  lady  had  had  a  moment  of  dire  panic  at 
sight  of  the  telegram,  and  relief  left  her  buoy- 
ant. 


228  THE  STARLING 

"That  is  a  big  opportunity,  Janet — far  bigger 
than  guarding  me  from  the  perils  of  the  night," 
she  declared.  "I  shall  sleep  like  a  log — my 
Sarah  is  nearly  here.  And  kind  Nelly  will 
sleep  in  the  next  room,  and  do  everything  I 
want.  Now  go  along  with  you.  There  is  noth- 
ing the  matter  with  me." 

She  looked  so  gay  and  secure,  tucked  up  in 
her  big  bed,  a  reading  light  at  her  elbow,  and 
kind  Nelly  ready  to  serve  in  any  capacity,  that 
Janet  finally  went. 

"I  don't  feel  just  right  about  it,"  she  con- 
fessed to  Mr.  Cawthorne,  meeting  him  as  she 
went  out. 

"Oh,  I  will  guard  her,"  he  drawled.  Later, 
he  stopped  at  his  wife's  door  to  make  the  same 
offer. 

"If  Nelly  can't  keep  off  the  bogies  single- 
handed,  you  may  come  to  me,"  he  said.  "Or  I 
will  sleep  across  your  threshold  if  you  prefer." 

Lights  were  lit,  people  were  about.  The  face 
she  turned  to  him  was  vivid,  laughing. 

"Oh,  I  would  rather  have  the  bogies.  But 
you  might  come  and  say  good  night,  for  luck." 

He  came  and  passively  allowed  her  to  draw 
him  down  and  kiss  him. 


THE  STARLING  229 

"A  strange  custom,"  he  observed.  "Utterly 
unknown  in  some  countries." 

She  held  him  for  a  moment,  searching  his 
eyes,  then  dismissed  him  with  a  light  push. 

"Oh — you!"  she  murmured. 

His  door  closed,  the  house  grew  dark.  Soon 
it  was  clearly  evident  that  Nelly  was  asleep  in 
the  next  room.  The  uncouth  sound  droned  on, 
hour  after  hour — undoubtedly  disturbing  Mr. 
Cawthorne.  Whenever  Mrs.  Cawthorne  began 
to  doze,  it  dragged  her  back;  it  sawed  its  way 
through  any  covering.  Knocking  on  the  wall 
discouraged  it  only  for  a  moment.  At  last  she 
rose  and  sent  the  performer  back  to  her  own 
distant  room.  Nelly  wanted  to  sit  up,  but  Mrs. 
Cawthorne's  dread  of  her  husband's  exaspera- 
tion had  wiped  out  every  other  fear. 

"All  I  want  is  quiet,"  she  declared.  "Go  just 
as  fast  as  you  can!"  And  Nelly  went. 

She  slept,  after  that,  for  several  hours,  but 
the  night  was  still  dark  when  she  suddenly 
awoke,  starting  up  as  though  she  had  been 
called. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said  aloud. 

There  was  no  answer,  nothing  stirred,  and 
yet  the  stillness  of  the  house  felt  like  suspended 


230  THE  STARLING 

action  rather  than  emptiness.  The  night  seemed 
to  be  holding  its  breath  before  some  coming 
sound.  She  listened  right  and  left,  every  nerve 
taut,  for  the  first  clue,  the  breath  that  should 
release  the  approaching  terror  and  give  it  at 
least  a  name.  She  could  feel  it  swelling  about 
her,  rising  to  its  full  height — and  then  there 
was  a  sound,  a  small,  definite,  living  sound 
somewhere  in  the  house.  It  struck  her  drawn 
nerves  like  a  blow  on  dynamite. 

She  was  unconscious  that  she  screamed.  She 
knew  only  that  her  husband  had  said  she  might 
come  to  him.  She  ran  wildly  through  the  dark, 
lost  to  direction,  lost  to  everything,  until  even 
the  floor  beneath  her  feet  failed  her,  and  she 
went  crashing  into  space.  She  would  have 
fallen  the  length  of  the  stairs  but  for  Nelly, 
who  had  come  creeping  up,  a  step  at  a  time,  to 
be  sure  that  all  was  well. 

******* 

Morning  was  in  the  room  when  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne's  eyes  opened.  Before  they  held  any 
memory,  they  met  the  sunlight  with  a  look  of 
relief.  Then  they  passed  slowly  from  Doctor 
Russell  and  the  strange  nurse  to  Nelly,  hastily 
dressed  and  red-eyed,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 


THE  STARLING  231 

and,  beyond  them  all,  sunk  in  a  chair,  a  little 
gray  man  whose  head  rested  on  his  hand.  A 
voice  said,  "She  is  coming  to,"  and  there  was  a 
stir  about  her,  something  was  given  her  in  a 
glass. 

"Why  are  they  all  here?"  she  wondered,  and 
recognized  uneasily  that  she  must  be  giving  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  Surely  Nelly  wanted  to 
be  at  her  day's  work.  Then  she  remembered. 

"Oh,  dear — did  I  scream?"  she  apologized. 

They  said  vaguely  soothing  things,  but  she 
knew  that  she  must  have  screamed,  and  that 
Mr.  Cawthorne  had  been  seriously  disturbed. 
She  tried  to  say  something  humorous  and  sorry 
to  him,  but  he  was  so  far  off,  and  he  would  not 
look  toward  her,  so  she  gave  it  up  with  a  sigh. 
Presently  it  occurred  to  her  that  even  now, 
when  she  was  all  right  again,  they  did  not  go 
away.  Doctor  Russell  must  want  his  break- 
fast. She  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Oh— am  I  badly  hurt?"  she  asked. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  hurt  at  all,"  was  the 
comfortable  answer.  "You  didn't  break  any 
bones,  thanks  to  Nelly.  You're  badly  shaken 
up,  that's  all.  Don't  try  to  talk." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  but  presently  opened 
them  on  the  same  group. 


232  THE  STARLING 

"Am  I  keeping  you  all?"  she  murmured. 
When  she  opened  them  again,  only  the  strange 
nurse  was  there.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  considered 
her  for  a  long  time.  "Just  what  did  happen?" 
she  asked  in  a  stronger  voice. 

The  nurse  knew  only  that  there  had  been  a 
fall.  She  did  not  even  know  if  Sarah  had  been 
told.  Mrs.  Cawthorne  waited  until  she  had 
gone  to  breakfast  and  Nelly  had  taken  her 
place. 

"Now,  Nelly,  tell  me  all  about  it — just  what 
I  did,  and  how  you  came  to  be  there,"  she  com- 
manded in  the  comfortable  voice  of  one  who 
settles  down  to  a  good  story,  and  Nelly,  so 
lured,  told  of  waking  uneasy  and  stealing  up 
the  front  stairs — since  the  door  that  led  to  the 
back  stairs  creaked;  and  then  the  scream,  and 
her  vain  effort  to  make  her  own  reassuring 
voice  heard,  and  the  wild  fall  that  she  had 
stopped. 

"And  if  it  was  me  that  scared  you,  m'am,  I'll 
never  forgive  myself,"  she  said  with  trembling 
lips. 

"Oh,  you  didn't,"  was  the  instant  answer. 
"You  hadn't  anything  in  the  world  to  do  with 
it — except  to  save  my  crazy  neck.  And  I  will 


THE  STARLING  233 

forgive  you  for  that  if  I  can.  Whom  have  you 
told  about  it?" 

"Just  Mr.  Cawthorne,  m'am.  And  when  he 
went  out  to  call  up  Miss  Sarah,  she  had  started 
for  home." 

Mrs.  Cawthorne's  look  jumped  to  the  clock. 
"She  is  on  her  way?"  she  exclaimed,  so  in- 
stantly excited  that  Nelly  would  have  gone  for 
the  nurse;  but  Mrs.  Cawthorne  held  her  by  a 
hand  on  her  arm,  thinking  furiously. 

"Sarah  must  not  blame  herself  for  being 
away,"  she  worked  it  out.  "She  would,  the  dear 
girl,  and  she  'must  not.  Help  me,  Nelly — wait  a 
minute.  There,  that's  it.  She  doesn't  have  to 
know  that  I  sent  you  away  in  the  night.  Let 
her  think  that  you  were  right  there,  taking 
care  of  me,  and  that  I  ran  amuck,  and  no  one 
could  have  stopped  it.  That's  it.  Promise  me." 

"I'd  promise  you  anything,  Mrs.  Cawthorne." 

"Remember!  Now  send  Mr.  Cawthorne  to 
me,  alone." 

Looking  into  the  burning  face,  Nelly  hesi- 
tated, but  a  sharp,  "At  once !"  had  to  be  obeyed. 
He  must  have  been  near,  for  he  came  imme- 
diately, looking  oddly  unfamiliar  with  un- 
brushed  hair  and  blankly  grave  eyes.  Mrs. 


234  THE  STARLING 

Cawthome  had  no  time  then  to  consider  him, 
She  caught  his  wrist  lest  he  should  try  to  slip 
away  for  doctors  and  nurses  before  she  had 
finished. 

"Stephen,  listen — listen  with  all  your  might. 
This  is  life  and  death.  Sarah  must  not  know 
that  I  had  sent  Nelly  away — Sarah  must  not 
blame  herself!  Oh,  don't  you  see  that?"  She 
shook  his  arm,  but  he  could  not  seem  to  answer. 
"She  is  so  loving,  so  responsible — if  she  blamed 
herself,  she  would  never  leave  me  again.  And 
she  must  go,  and  go,  and  have  lovely  times. 
The  hedge  is  down  for  Sarah!  Oh,  you  can't 
smother  her  in  it  as  you  have  smothered  me!" 
He  started,  but  she  had  only  forgotten  the  dif- 
ference between  what  one  thinks  and  what  one 
says.  She  went  on  without  bitterness,  as 
though  he  would  understand  and  even  sympa- 
thize. "Oh,  how  I  hated  it,  hated  it,  hated  it! 
Sometimes  it  was  like  a  green  snake  wound 
tight  about  me — I  used  to  play  that  when  it  got 
to  my  throat  I  could  stop  struggling  and  die. 
But  I  suppose  you  forgive  even  your  shroud 
in  time.  I  accept  the  hedge  now — I  accept  you, 
Stephen — I  accept  everything  but  smothering 
Sarah !  And  I  should  be  worse  than  the  hedge, 


THE  STARLING  235 

I'd  be  a  vampire,  if  I  did  that.  You  can't  stop 
her  now,  and  I  won't.  She  has  got  out!" 

"Lisa,"  he  began  helplessly,  but  she  silenced 
him. 

"No — wait.  You  have  got  to  understand  just 
what  Sarah  is  to  be  told.  Nelly  went  to  bed  in 
the  next  room — you  understand  that?" 

"Yes." 

"She  was  wide  awake,  looking  after  me — and 
I  had  a  crazy  fit,  perhaps  a  bad  dream.  No  one 
could  have  helped  me  or  stopped  me.  Nelly  did 
catch  me  before  I  was  badly  hurt.  Now  do 
you  understand?" 

He  went  through  it  in  a  dry  voice,  his  eyes 
averted. 

"You  promise  to  stick  to  that?  Swear  it, 
Stephen.  You  are  a  bad  old  man,  but  you  keep 
your  word." 

"I  swear  it,  Lisa." 

Her  grasp  relaxed  and  she  seemed  to  sink 
down  through  the  pillows  to  some  place  of  per- 
fect rest.  When  she  again  opened  her  eyes, 
Sarah  was  sitting  close  beside  her.  She  smiled 
into  the  grave  young  face. 

"Had  a  good  time?"  she  murmured. 

"Not  good  enough  to  pay  for  having  left 


236  THE  STARLING 

you,"  Sarah  said,  with  a  sigh  that  was  half  a 
sob. 

"You  couldn't  have  helped  it,  dear!  Didn't 
they  tell  you—?" 

"Oh,  yes;  no  one  is  to  blame.  But — !"  Sarah 
laid  her  cheek  on  the  limp  hand.  The  gesture 
finished  the  sentence,  it  dedicated  her  youth  to 
her  mother's  weakness. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne's  lids  dropped  to  hide  her 
dismay.  She  was  too  weak  to  fight  then,  and 
yet  the  fight  could  not  long  be  put  off.  Sarah 
must  be  free!  All  day  the  sentence  beat  on 
her  sick  brain.  Toward  night  she  was  stronger 
and  began  to  notice  other  things — that  she  was 
not  for  an  instant  left  alone,  that  they  did  not 
allow  her  to  lift  her  head  or  even  her  hand. 
When  Doctor  Russell  came  in,  she  sent  away 
Sarah  and  the  nurse  and  demanded  the  truth. 

"Am  I  going  to  die?"  she  asked  cheerfully, 
almost  hopefully. 

The  doctor  soothed,  comforted  and  joked,  af- 
ter the  manner  of  his  generation.  She  was 
good  for  twenty  years  yet;  her  heart  had  had 
something  of  a  strain,  but  a  few  weeks  of  care 
and  absolute  obedience  to  orders  would  put  her 
on  her  feet  again.  He  became  grave  over  that, 


THE  STARLING  237 

graver  than  she  had  ever  seen  him.  Her  do- 
cility must  have  no  exceptions. 

"But  I  couldn't  be  hired  to  stir  or  sit  up ;  and 
I  couldn't  get  anything  you  didn't  prescribe  if 
I  wanted  to,"  she  objected. 

"Oh,  I  know  you !"  His  sigh  was  humorous. 
"I  dare  say  you  have  seven  nerve  tonics  and 
sleep  producers  and  dear  knows  what  under 
your  pillow  this  moment." 

She  denied  it,  but  looked  a  little  guilty.  "And 
if  you  do  get  me  up,  what  then?"  she  asked. 
"Shall  I  just  drag  around,  a  bother  to  every- 
body?" 

That  was  nonsense,  of  course.  Oh,  she  would 
have  to  be  careful — and  he  told  a  funny  story 
of  a  man  with  heart  trouble  who  had  outlived 
all  his  grandchildren.  There  was  nothing  to 
worry  about ;  she  had  a  comfortable  home  and 
a  devoted  daughter.  And  she  was  not  to  say 
another  word  that  night. 

He  went  away,  and  for  a  long  time  she  kept 
her  eyelids  down,  so  that  no  one  knew  what 
went  on  behind  them — the  selfless  love  and 
pity,  the  wild  search  for  a  way  out.  Suddenly 
she  gave  a  little  cry;  then,  hearing  Sarah's 
quick  response,  she  laughed. 


238  THE  STARLING 

"Nothing,  dear.  I  just  thought  of  some- 
thing." When  her  eyes  were  unveiled,  they  had 
a  look  of  shining  peace  that  Sarah  never  for- 
got. 

A  night  nurse  came  at  nine  o'clock,  but,  find-, 
ing  out  that  she  had  been  up  all  day,  Mrs.  Caw- 
thorne  sent  her  to  Sarah's  room  to  get  a  few 
hours'  rest. 

"You  can  stay  with  me  till  you  are  sleepy, 
Bunny,  and  then  wake  her  up,"  she  said.  "Take 
the  big  chair,  darling,  and  presently  I  will  try 
to  sleep.  .  .  .  That's  right.  Isn't  this 
cozy!"  They  smiled  at  each  other.  "Now  tell 
me  about  your  week.  No  matter  if  you  have 
written  me  things — tell  them  to  me  all  over 
again." 

Sarah  turned  back  to  her  gaieties  with  an 
effort.  That  last  hour  in  Dosia's  room  had 
wiped  the  color  out  of  vivid  experiences;  the 
week's  campaign  had  become  tawdry,  even  vul- 
gar, in  the  light  of  what  Dosia  had  admitted. 
Dosia  was  vulgar,  too,  and  so  was  the  common- 
place luxury  of  her  home,  her  obedient,  com- 
monplace family.  Sarah  had  fled  the  moment 
breakfast  was  over,  drawing  the  hedge  about 
her  like  a  fine  lady's  mantle.  She  did  not  want 


THE  STARLING  239 

to  get  out  through  Dosia's  help!  She  did  not 
even  want  Robert  if  Dosia  could  want  him,  too. 

Had  she  come  home  to  a  tranquil  household, 
by  this  time  the  ancient  comfort  would  have 
been  stirring  in  her  side,  and  she  would  have 
healed  herself  by  writing  scenes  of  city  gaiety, 
set  in  the  radiance  of  life-as-it-ought-to-be.  But 
this  dreadful  day  had  left  the  whole  experience 
a  heap  of  unsightly  rubbish.  She  told  what 
she  could  in  a  drowsy  voice,  hoping  to  soothe 
her  mother  to  sleep.  When  she  stopped,  Mrs. 
Cawthorne  rewarded  her  with  a  mother-sound 
of  loving  inattention.  She  was  evidently  off 
on  some  separate  trail  of  thought,  and,  by  the 
light  in  her  face,  it  had  led  her  to  high  peaks. 

"You  know,  Bunny,"  she  began,  "when  I  die, 
you  won't  have  to  go  through  what  so  many 
daughters  do  —  feeling  that  you  didn't  give 
enough,  didn't  show  your  love.  You  have  al- 
ways been  just  an  utter  joy  to  me — you've 
given  heaped  up  and  running  over.  Remember 
that." 

"Mother!"  Sarah  begged,  her  eyes  filling. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  smiled  at  her.  "Was  I  har- 
rowing? I  didn't  mean  to  be.  One  thinks  of 
such  things  after  an  accident,  I  suppose.  I 


240  THE  STARLING 

know,  after  my  own  mother's  death — well,  I 
had  been  a  good  and  loving  daughter,  I  am  cer- 
tain of  that,  just  until  that  last  year,  when 
I  was  engaged  to  your  father.  I  was  madly  in 
love,  and,  dearest,  he  wasn't  a  very  easy  man 
even  to  be  engaged  to.  It  was  not  a  happy  time, 
and  I  couldn't  seem  to  bother  about  my  mother. 
No  one  on  earth  mattered  to  me  but  Stephen. 
I  ought  to  have  pretended  that  she  still  mat- 
tered, but  I  forgot  that  until  too  late.  For, 
in  the  middle  of  it  all,  she  died — before  I 
had  a  chance  to  wake  up  to  her  side  of  it.  Oh, 
I  don't  blame  myself.  I  suffered  horribly  then, 
but  I  know  now  that  I  couldn't  have  been  dif- 
ferent. And  I  had  been  warm  and  good  until 
that  year — truly.  But  that  is  where  you  are  a 
bigger  person  than  I  was.  If  you  were  in  love 
with  three  men,  darling,  you  wouldn't  grow  cold 
to  me." 

Sarah  was  always  fair.  "I  might  if  you 
weren't  you,"  she  said.  "You  would  under- 
stand, and  wait." 

"I  would  never  do  a  hurt  mouth  at  you,  or 
keep  a  grievance,"  Mrs.  Cawthorne  admitted 
gladly.  "We  know  how  to  be  a  family,  don't 
we?  Now  your  father — Sarah,  if  I  passed  on, 


THE  STARLING  241 

I  think  he  might  have  some  really  horrid  mo- 
ments." 

"I  hope  so,"  was  the  vigorous  answer.  "But, 
mother,  you  are  not  allowed  to  talk." 

"Well,  I  won't.  But  just  one  thing,  dear: 
when  I  go,  don't  let  that  bad  old  man  be  too 
sorry."  Her  voice  had  a  humorous  tenderness. 
"A  little  sorry  wouldn't  hurt  him,  but  don't  let 
him  suffer,  darling.  Of  course,  it  looks  un- 
likely, but  he  might.  He  couldn't  help  being 
himself,  and  I  understood.  Remember  that, 
won't  you?" 

Sarah  kissed  her,  but  made  no  promise. 
Then  she  turned  the  light  to  a  mere  point  and 
drew  her  chair  away  from  the  bed. 

"They  won't  let  me  sit  with  you  if  I  allow 
talking,"  she  said.  "Now  not  another  word!" 

"Not  one!"  was  the  contented  assent. 

She  seemed  to  sleep  very  soon,  and  Sarah  sat 
motionless,  thinking  of  mothers  and  love  and 
death.  Beside  such  things,  how  unimportant 
and  remote  it  all  became — fame  and  parties  and 
Dosia  and  even  Robert!  They  were  like  a 
chapter  in  a  book  that  she  had  finished.  They 
had  kept  her  feverishly  awake  all  the  night 
before,  but  now,  when  she  tried  to  focus  on 


242  THE  STARLING 

them,  they  became  vague  and  floated  out  of 
reach.  Even  Robert — didn't  matter — 

She  must  have  dozed  for  an  instant,  for  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  her  mother  were  bending 
over  her;  she  seemed  even  to  hear  murmured 
words— "Good  night,  my  little  Sarah!"  Yet 
that  was  impossible,  for  her  mother  was  in 
bed,  helpless.  Sarah  knew  that  for  a  fact.  Her 
drowsy  brain  kept  arguing  about  it  until  sud- 
denly she  was  wide  awake  again,  frightened  at 
her  lapse.  She  stood  by  the  window  for  a  few 
moments,  to  clear  her  brain,  then  seated  her- 
self rigidly  upright.  She  did  not  mean  to  call 
the  nurse  before  midnight,  but  presently  the 
latter  came  in. 

"I  heard  you  moving  and  thought  perhaps 
you  were  getting  tired,"  she  said.  "I  have  had 
all  the  sleep  I — "  She  broke  off  with  an  ex- 
clamation and  turned  up  the  light. 

"You  had  better  go,"  she  said  quickly,  but 
Sarah  came  straight  to  her  mother's  side. 

Mrs.  Cawthorne  lay  just  as  she  had  arranged 
herself  when  Sarah  turned  down  the  light.  Her 
sleep  had  never  looked  so  tranquil.  She  who 
had  so  feared  the  little  dark  of  night  had  gone 
to  meet  the  great  dark  with  a  friendly  smile, 
one  hand  flung  out  as  though  in  welcome. 


XI 


DOCTOR  RUSSELL  had  known  that  at  any 
moment  the  exhausted  heart  might  stop. 
He  would  have  made  the  best  of  a  crippled  life, 
but  now  he  made  the  best  of  death,  so  that 
Sarah  had  to  see  it  as  a  release,  and  could 
grieve  only  on  her  own  account.  The  things 
her  mother  had  said  to  her  that  last  night — 
solemn  things,  though  uttered  so  lightly — lived 
in  her  heart  and  filled  it  with  a  passion  of  grati- 
tude. Except  for  poignant  moments,  she  was 
not  wholly  unhappy — and  not  at  all  dreary,  like 
the  little  gray  man  who  limped  silently  out  of 
his  library  to  meals,  and  limped  back  again  as 
soon  as  possible.  Sarah  looked  on  at  her  father 
with  hard  young  eyes  and  made  no  effort  to 
reach  him.  Probably  he  was  only  disturbed — 
annoyed  at  the  change  and  embarrassed  by  its 
demand  for  emotion.  She  owed  him  nothing. 

Robert  came  almost  daily  and  was  his  best 
self,  the  self  he  showed  in  sick  rooms,  kind, 
strong,  attentive;  and  Sarah  sat  opposite  her 
young  lord  with  a  sad  wonder  growing  in  her 
eyes.  She  was  grateful,  full  of  affection  and 
243 


244  THE  STARLING 

appreciation,  but  she  was  also  a  little  bored. 
After  all  these  months  of  intimacy,  they  seemed 
scarcely  acquainted.  She  had  never  really 
talked  to  him,  never  shown  herself  as  she  did  to 
Saxe,  and  her  listening  had  been  an  act  of  wor- 
ship rather  than  of  intelligence.  Now  her  ears 
woke  up  and  mortified  her  by  their  relentless 
report.  His  bodily  beauty  could  still  give  her 
an  ache,  but  it  was  an  ache  of  regret  for  things 
gone  by;  and  an  evening  with  him  began  to 
seem  very  long. 

No  word  whatever  came  from  Saxe.  It  was 
incredible  that  he  could  remember  a  quarrel  in 
the  face  of  death.  Her  side  of  it  was  utterly 
forgotten,  and  she  turned  with  longing  to  his 
deeply  human  understanding,  the  encompass- 
ing tenderness  of  his  care  for  her;  but  there 
was  not  even  a  card  of  sympathy,  though  the 
mail  rained  them  upon  her  from  her  new  ac- 
quaintances. Mr.  Cawthorne's  position  and 
Sarah's  book  had  given  the  news  prominence; 
no  newspaper  man  could  have  missed  it.  And 
Saxe  had  not  gone  away,  for  every  week  his 
paper  published  a-  signed  article-  on  the  political 
situation. 

"Christopher,  it  isn't  big,  it  isn't  like  you," 


THE  STARLING  245 

she  silently  told  him.  "Even  if  you  don't  love 
me  any  more — and  Dosia  says  they  can  get  over 
it  between  one  day  and  the  next — you  might  at 
least  be  sorry.  Ah,  I  did  think  you  would 
come !"  But  four  weeks  passed  and  he  made  no 
sign. 

And  then  Aunt  Sadi's  telegram  opened  a 
new  world.  She  seldom  wrote,  but  she  had  tele- 
graphed reams  since  her  sister-in-law's  death. 
She  and  her  brother  were  frankly  hostile,  but 
she  had  always  taken  an  interest  in  "the  fam- 
ily child,"  as  she  called  Sarah. 

"Arrive  Hotel  Potter  Santa  Barbara  Thurs- 
day join  me  there  for  two  weeks." 

The  message  was  like  a  strong  hand  at  the 
needed  moment,  for  the  first  exaltation  of 
meeting  death  well  was  dying  down,  and  the 
girl  was  growing  miserably  lonely.  She  told 
Nelly,  and  the  cook,  and  even  the  laundress 
working  in  the  big  pleasant  laundry  with  Lady 
Banksia  roses  framing  the  open  door  and  win- 
dows. Then,  at  lunch  time,  she  told  her  father, 
paying  little  attention  to  his  reception  of  the 
news. 

"Tell  me  about  Aunt  Sadi,"  she  urged.    "Of 


246  THE  STARLING 

course,  I  don't  remember  her  visit,  but  I  seem 
to  remember  a  little  white  dog." 

"Oh,  yes;  Sadi  always  gathers  live  stock; 
she  can't  stop  a  night  without  picking  up  some 
creature,"  he  drawled.  "She's  a  good  woman, 
but  I  never  1-1-liked  her.  She  says  just  what 
she  thinks  in  a  strong  voice,  and  they  are  al-. 
ways  making  her  president  of  something.  She 
has  my  fine  features,  but  not  my  intellectual 
expression.  Why  do  you  want  to  go?" 

A  note  of  amusement  was  her  only  answer. 

"Well,  then,"  he  amended,  "what  does  she 
want  of  you?" 

"Just  to  be  kind  and  friendly,  I  suppose;" 
Sarah  spoke  in  a  lowered  voice,  and  Mr.  Caw- 
thorne's  eyes  grew  blank  and  fell  away.  He 
never  voluntarily  made  reference  to  their  sor- 
row, or  mentioned  his  wife's  name. 

One  beautiful  thing  left  by  that  last  evening 
with  her  mother  was  that  Sarah  did  not  feel 
guilty  if  she  enjoyed  anything.  The  next  few 
days  she  kept  telling  her  mother  that  she  was 
almost  happy,  as  though  the  hovering  spirit 
would  be  glad  of  the  reassurance.  Robert  took 
her  to  the  train,  burdening  her  with  a  mam- 
moth box  of  chocolates,  but  his  air  of  devotion 


THE  STARLING  247 

was  growing  a  little  mechanical.  Perhaps  the 
antennae  of  his  sensitive  egotism  had  already 
discovered  her  secret  inattention. 

"You  were  dear  to  come  all  this  way  with 
me,"  she  said  earnestly  as  he  stood  beside  her 
section  for  good-by. 

"Oh,  I  was  glad  to.  I  will  run  up  and  see 
Dosia  for  a  while."  His  eyes  looked  off  over 
her  head  to  some  remote  prospect.  "Do  you 
know,  I  haven't  done  that  girl  justice,"  he  went 
on.  "She  is  very  sweet  and  womanly  when  one 
gets  past  a  sort  of  worldly  surface  she  puts 
on.  You  know  what  I  mean?" 

"I  am  sure  I  do,"  said  Sarah  with  a  faint 
sigh. 

He  took  her  hand  for  good-by,  looking  very 
handsome  and  chivalrous  with  his  bared  head, 
and  other  passengers  watched  them  kindly. 
Sarah,  catching  a  glimpse  of  this,  sighed  again, 
and  wished  that  the  text  of  real  life  would  ever 
come  up  to  the  pictures. 

It  was  good  to  get  away  from  the  shadowed 
house,  from  Robert,  from  the  postman  and  the 
incessant  wearing  hope  of  a  word  from  Saxe. 
The  flight  of  the  train  to  the  south  started  up 
the  old  cry,  "I'm  getting  out !  I'm  getting  out !" 


248  THE  STARLING 

Sarah  looked  as  though  some  great  hand  had 
opened  a  cage  door  when  she  stepped  down 
from  the  sleeper  into  the  morning  sunshine. 

She  had  been  summoned  for  two  weeks,  but 
in  a  week  she  was  racing  back  again,  pushing 
the  floor  of  the  car  to  hurry  it  on,  chafing  at 
every  stop  as  though  it  imperiled  her  good 
news.  She  kept  telling  her  mother  about  it,  and 
hearing  her  warm  response.  That  had  been 
one  of  the  many  splendid  things  about  Aunt 
Sadi:  she  had  said,  "Your  mother — "  with  no 
change  of  voice  or  expression,  as  though  she 
were  in  the  next  room.  That  her  mother  should 
become  a  forbidden  topic  had  been  terrible  to 
Sarah.  Living  or  dead,  she  was  a  person  to  be 
glad  of,  not  to  shut  away  in  cold  silence.  And 
Aunt  Sadi  had  so  perfectly  understood  her  only 
brother.  The  usual  decent  reticences  were 
never  observed  when  relatives  spoke  of  Mr. 
Cawthorne.  Perhaps  in  his  case  no  pretense 
was  possible.  Oh,  it  had  been  a  human  vitaliz- 
ing week ;  and  it  was  only  the  beginning.  Sarah 
burst  through  the  hedge  as  if  she  had  run  all 
the  way  home,  and  though  old  habit  hushed 
her  step  before  she  reached  the  front  door,  her 
face  was  incandescent  as  she  swung  it  back. 


THE  STARLING  249 

She  had  not  sent  word  of  her  coming,  and 
the  silent  unwelcoming  house  opened  darkly 
before  her.  Her  new  joy  could  not  cross  its 
threshold,  and  for  a  frightened  moment  she 
wished  that  she  had  not  come:  that  she  had 
telegraphed  her  news  and  had  her  things  sent. 
She  had  forgotten  the  life-long  power  of  that 
closed  library  door  over  her  spirit.  And  then, 
because  she  was  afraid,  she  went  swiftly  for- 
ward and  opened  it. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  sat  in  his  usual  place,  but  his 
head  was  dropped  forward  and  his  hands  were 
folded  in  idleness.  He  looked  horribly  alone. 
Even  when  he  lifted  his  head,  his  spirit  did 
not  instantly  assert  itself  to  deny  the  impres- 
sion. His  eyes  blinked  remotely. 

"I  believe  I  was  asleep,"  he  murmured,  and 
then,  "Oh,  Sarah!  Is  that  you?  Came  back, 
did  you?" 

"Just  for  a  few  days."  Sarah  was  looking 
into  his  face  with  arrested  attention.  "Have 
you  been  ill?"  she  demanded. 

He  passed  a  hand  over  new  lines  and  start- 
ling hollows  as  though  to  rub  them  out. 

"Oh,  no.  I  have  lost  the  trick  of  sleeping, 
that  is  all.  I  can't  seem  to  manage  it  at  night." 


250  THE  STARLING 

He  did  not  want  to  talk  about  that.  "You  look 
well.  How's  Sadi?" 

"Oh,  splendid!  1  am  going  back  east  with 
her,  father,  to  stay  a  year.  Perhaps  longer.  I 
came  home  to  pack  up." 

Their  eyes  met  and  battled,  though  she  did 
not  know  what  his  were  saying  behind  their 
dull  stare. 

"You  are?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes.  I  am  the  live  stock  she  has  picked  up 
on  this  trip."  And  Sarah  laughed. 

"You  can  leave  R-R-Robert?" 

The  shadow  that  fell  bleakly  across  her  hap- 
piness was  not  Robert's,  but  Christopher's. 
And  she  must  leave  the  place  where  Christo- 
pher was,  if  only  to  get  away  from  the  hurt  of 
his  silence  and  the  agony  of  listening  for  him. 
Even  in  Santa  Barbara,  she  had  started  at 
every  sudden  bell,  and  seen  him  in  every  long 
figure  that  approached. 

"There  is  no  one  I  can't  leave,"  she  said,  as 
though  for  other  ears.  "I  am  so  glad  to  go!" 

"What  will  you  do  there?" 

"Oh,  live.  And  write.  And  make  friends." 
Her  going  needed  no  defense,  and  yet  she  had  to 
defend  it.  "You  don't  need  me,  and  there  is  no 


THE  STARLING  251 

life  for  me  here.  I  can't  stand  the  hedge  any 
longer,  and  there  is  no  reason  I  should.  Aunt 
Sadi's  home  is  wide  open,  and  there  are  dogs — 
oh,  precious  little  dogs!  And  we  have  such 
good  times  together,  she  and  I.  We  laugh,  and 
we  talk  of  mother,  and  she  cares  about  my 
books — she  had  read  Dickery  Dock  three  times ! 
We  will  travel  together  some  day.  Oh,  it  is 
like  getting  out  of  prison!"  She  piled  up  her 
indictment  remorselessly,  but  he  gave  no  sign 
of  comprehension. 

"I  suppose  you  are  asking  my  consent?"  he 
observed. 

"No.  I  am  telling  you,"  was  the  strong  an- 
swer. "I  leave  here  next  Friday.  We  are  go- 
ing back  to  Montclair  for  two  months,  then  to 
the  Rocky  Point  cottage.  I  shall  take  every- 
thing, even  some  of  my  books.  I  suppose  Nelly 
will  stay  on ;  she  knows  all  your  ways." 

"Oh,  don't  trouble  about  me ;"  Mr.  Cawthorne 
pulled  his  papers  toward  him  as  though  he  had 
been  interrupted  long  enough. 

"I  want  you  to  be  comfortable,"  said  Sarah 
politely,  and  left  the  room.  Afterward  she 
wished  that  she  had  not  been  quite  so  hard  and 
horrid.  He  might  deserve  it,  but  he  did  look 


252  THE  STARLING 

rather  forlorn.  That  first  sight  of  him  hurt 
every  time  she  went  back  to  it.  The  fun  of 
collecting  favorite  books  and  turning  out  her 
desk  was  darkened. 

Mr.  Cawthorne  did  not  seem  aware  that  she 
had  been  horrid;  that  made  it  all  the  worse. 
Several  times  that  day  he  appeared  suddenly 
where  she  was  working,  asking  her  aimless 
questions  and  obviously  not  listening  to  her 
answers.  At  twilight  she  heard  him  at  her 
door,  and  called  out  from  her  mother's  room, 
where  she  was  resting;  but  he  would  not  come 
past  the  threshold. 

"I  was  going  to  take  a  turn  about  the  gar- 
den, but  I  suppose  you  are  tired  or  busy  or 
something,"  he  said,  his  face  turned  away  from 
the  unchanged  room. 

"No,  I'm  not.  I  only  dropped  down  for  a 
moment." 

Sarah  rose  from  her  mother's  couch  and  went 
out  with  him,  troubled  and  on  guard.  He  made 
no  attack,  however.  He  talked  about  the 
weather  and  the  state  of  the  lawn,  and  about 
gardens  he  had  seen  in  Italy  in  his  youth,  and 
presently  she  saw,  with  an  unwilling,  sickening 
compassion,  that  he  was  trying  quite  simply  to 


THE  STARLING  253 

interest  her.  Her  courteous  soul  could  not  re- 
fuse such  an  advance.  She  told  him  about  gar- 
dens at  Santa  Barbara,  and  about  excursions 
they  had  taken,  and  the  wonders  of  the  beach. 
No  companionable  silence  was  possible  between 
them :  they  had  to  talk  every  moment,  as  though 
to  deny  that  the  situation  held  any  complexi- 
ties. When  they  went  in,  he  wrung  her  heart 
by  thanking  her. 

"I  know  you  are  busy.  Very  nice  of  you  to 
spend  so  much  time  on  a  dull  old  party  like 
me,"  he  said  gravely  as  he  went  back  to  his 
library.  Sarah  murmured  some  commonplace 
and  fled. 

"I  won't  be  sorry!"  she  declared,  safe  in  her 
own  room.  "He  has  brought  it  on  himself — he 
has  got  to  take  his  own  consequences.  Mother 
warned  me — she  was  sorry,  and  it  spoiled  her 
life.  I  won't  be,  that's  all.  He  isn't  pathetic — 
he  is  a  bad  old  man.  Now  I  will  write  to  Aunt 
Sadi."  And  yet  she  did  not.  She  argued  that 
she  was  tired,  and  that  the  letter  could  wait 
till  morning. 

She  carried  a  book  up  to  her  own  room  that 
evening,  but  presently  she  heard  her  father's 
limping  step,  following.  An  absurd  fright  shook 


254  THE  STARLING 

her.  The  step  seemed  to  come  like  some  dread- 
ful trailing  fate,  and  the  big  house  about  her, 
dark  and  empty,  offered  no  hiding-place.  She 
might  run  screaming  from  room  to  room,  but 
the  slow  inescapable  step  would  follow.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet — but  there  was  only  an  im- 
potent little  gray  man  hovering  in  the  doorway, 
and  she  sank  back  ashamed  of  the  melodrama 
her  nerves  had  invented. 

"Sairy,  I  wonder  if  you  would  martyrize 
yourself  to  the  point  of  reading  to  me,"  he  said. 
"I  have  an  idea  that  it  might  make  me  sleep. 
And  if  I  don't  get  back  the  trick  of  sleeping 
pretty  soon —  Any  old  thing.  Dotty  Dimple 
would  do/' 

Life-long  habit  made  the  request  flattering. 
Sarah  found  a  story  and  did  her  best  by  it, 
happy  when  at  last  she  caught  his  wandering 
attention  and  held  it.  It  would  have  been  sweet, 
having  him  there  beside  her  and  ministering  to 
him  like  any  loved  daughter,  but  for  the  need  of 
self-protection. 

"I  am  not  going  to  be  made  sorry,"  she 
vowed,  and,  as  though  her  inner  stiffening  had 
ended  the  hour,  he  rose. 

"That's  enough — you  must  be  tired.     I  en- 


THE  STARLING  255 

joyed  it.  I  dare  say  I  can  sleep  now."  At  the 
door  he  paused.  "Good  of  you  to  have  come 
home  before  you  went  off  altogether.  I  am 
glad  you  did  it,"  he  said  with  his  back  to  her, 
and  then  the  doors  closed  between  them. 

"Oh,  I  wish  he  wouldn't,"  Sarah  muttered, 
tears  of  exasperation  in  her  eyes.  He  had  no 
right  to  make  her  sorry. 

She  could  not  sleep  herself  that  night,  and  at 
last  she  gave  up  and  lit  the  light  to  read.  Two 
o'clock  struck  before  she  was  ready  to  try 
sleep  again.  She  had  stretched  up  her  hand  to 
the  light  when  a  sound  came  from  her  father's 
room  across  the  hall — the  thud  of  a  foot,  and 
then  the  quick  flinging  back  of  his  door.  Sarah 
sprang  to  open  her  own  door,  and  the  sudden 
light  caught  him  at  his  threshold,  showing  a 
face  white  and  drawn. 

"I  heard  her  scream,"  he  said.  "Did  you?" 
Then,  as  the  sleep  cleared  from  his  eyes,  he 
shrank  back.  "Dream,  of  course,"  he  muttered. 
"I  dream  it  every  night.  It  is  better  to  stay 
awake."  And  he  closed  the  door  between  them. 

In  the  morning  Sarah  went  on  with  her  up- 
rooting, and  still  she  did  not  write  Aunt  Sadi. 
She  could  have  refuted  any  argument,  tri- 


256  THE  STARLING 

umphed  in  any  combat ;  but  her  father  neither 
argued  nor  fought.  He  only  came  in  search 
of  her  on  thin  pretexts,  and  lingered  as  if  he 
had  merely  forgotten  to  go,  and  broke  her  heart 
by  his  labored  attempts  at  conversation.  All 
day,  under  her  courteous  response,  she  defied 
him :  he  was  not  going  to  make  her  sorry  and 
so  swallow  her  whole,  as  he  had  swallowed  his 
wife.  Then  bed  time  came,  and  she  saw  dread 
of  the  night  looking  out  of  his  dulled  eyes  so 
clearly  that  her  kindness  broke  through  and 
ran  to  him. 

"Leave  your  door  open  to-night,  dear;"  she 
spoke  as  she  might  have  to  her  mother.  "I 
will  leave  mine  open,  too.  You  will  sleep  bet- 
ter, I  know  it." 

He  did  not  answer,  perhaps  could  not.  When, 
long  afterward,  he  opened  his  door,  she  called, 
"Good  night,  father !"  and  still  he  did  not  speak, 
but  she  heard  a  sharp  breath  that  pierced  her 
last  defense. 

"Oh,  poor  old  soul,"  she  sobbed.  "Oh,  poor, 
lonely  little  old  man !"  The  fight  was  over.  She 
could  not  go. 

Hours  later  she  heard  the  distressed  leap  of 
the  night  before,  and  called  out  at  once: 


THE  STARLING  257 

"It's  all  right,  father.    It's  all  right." 

He  answered  this  time.  "Oh — oh,  yes.  Thank 
you,  Sarah.  All  right." 

He  did  not  sleep  after  that.  She  could  hear 
him  turning  and  sighing.  Finally  she  put  on 
a  wrapper  and  went  in  to  him. 

"Father,  I  am  not  going  east  now;"  she 
rather  flung  it  at  him,  for  it  was  so  wrong  to 
give  in!  "Perhaps  I  can  go  later;  but  now  I 
don't  think  I  ought  to  leave  you." 

Speech  came  hard,  but  he  did  it.  "Thank  you, 
Sarah.  I  don't  seem  to  be — just  myself.  I 
suppose  it  will  be  a  big  disappointment  to  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Sarah.  "Very  big.  I  am  not 
staying  because  I  think  it  is  right — I  don't;  I 
think  it  is  all  wrong.  You  swallow  our  lives 
whole.  But,  if  I  went,  I  should  not  be  happy. 
It  would  haunt  me — you  all  alone  in  this  empty 
house.  Just  as  it  did  mother,  when  we  tried  to 
go  to  the  city.  She  was  sorry — and  one  can't 
stand  being  sorry.  Nothing  pays  if  it  makes 
you  sorry.  I  have  fought  it,  but  now  it  has  got 
me,  too."  Sarah's  voice  was  suddenly  despair- 
ing. "I  shall  never  get  out.  I  give  up.  It  is 
all  over." 

She  went  away,  shaken  and  sorrowful,  but  at 


258  THE  STARLING 

peace,  and,  under  it  all,  warmly,  blessedly  re- 
lieved— for  Christopher  Saxe  might  yet  come! 
When  she  woke  up,  Mr.  Cawthorne  had  gone  to 
his  classes  at  the  University,  and  they  met  at 
lunch  as  though  nothing  intimate  had  passed 
between  them.  Sarah  had  telegraphed  and 
written  Aunt  Sadi,  and  she  spent  the  afternoon 
restoring  her  possessions  to  their  places.  The 
library  door  stood  open,  and  whenever  she 
passed  she  saw  her  father  seated  at  his  desk, 
pen  in  hand ;  but  the  pen  did  not  move.  It  was 
almost  too  dark  to  sort  books  when  he  suddenly 
appeared  beside  her. 

"Sarah,  I  am  going  to  give  you  something, 
something  very  dear  to  me,"  he  said.  "I  want 
you  to  take  it  as  a  symbol  of  things  I — can't 
express."  He  seemed  to  forget  to  go  on,  and 
she  waited,  seated  on  the  floor  among  her  books, 
looking  up  into  his  gray  face. 

"What  is  it?"  she  finally  had  to  ask  him. 

"The  hedge.  You  can  have  it.  Cut  it  down 
— do  anything  you  like."  She  could  not  speak, 
and  presently  he  went  on.  "She  hated  it.  She 
said  it  had  been  like  a  green  snake,  choking 
her.  .  .  .  Death  has  a  curious  effect  on  the 
living  .  .  .  Stevenson  speaks  of  the  'im- 


THE  STARLING  259 

pure  passion  of  remorse.'  He  was  right,  of 
course.  It  is  impure — illogical.  We  do — and 
are — with  our  eyes  open.  Why  be  sorry  for 
what  was  deliberate  choice?  And  yet — death 
does  something  chemical,  something  more  than 
logic  warrants  .  .  .  Old  superstition  work- 
ing in  us,  perhaps — grandmother  weaknesses 
handed  down  .  .  .  and  still" — he  looked 
straight  at  her  for  the  first  time — "we  suffer. 
We  suffer,"  he  repeated  inaudibly. 

Her  heart  wanted  to  cry  out  that  she  would 
not  take  it,  that  she  cared  only  for  his  peace, 
but  her  brain  judged  better. 

"I  think  it  is  right  that  you  give  it  to  me," 
she  said. 

"Yes.  And  you  may  have  more  of  the  house. 
More — anything.  I  will  not  complain.  You 
are  a  good  girl,  Sarah." 

She  took  his  hand  between  both  hers  and 
spoke  with  her  face  hidden.  "No,  not  very.  I 
did  not  mean  to  tell  you — one  of  the  last  things 
mother  said.  It  was  not  to  let  you — suffer.  She 
was  merry  about  it — you  know  how  she  would 
be.  She  said,  'Don't  let  him  really  suffer.  He 
couldn't  help  it,  and  I  understood/  " 

She  felt  his  hand  tremble,  but  it  was  not 


260  THE  STARLING 

withdrawn.  He  sank  down  in  the  chair  beside 
her,  and  for  a  long  time  they  sat  together  in 
silence,  father  and  daughter,  as  Sarah  had 
dreamed  they  should  be.  She  would  never  fear 
him  again.  She  would  take  her  rights — oh, 
even  when  she  was  so  sorry  that  she  did  not 
want  them!  There  should  be  justice  between 
them;  but  also  there  would  be  love.  She  had 
so  longed  to  love  him  all  these  years !  And  the 
clinging  of  his  hand  told  her  that  now  she 
might.  His  own  hedge  had  been  beaten  down. 

When  he  had  left  her  she  slipped  out  into 
the  garden  for  a  look  at  her  old  enemy,  cutting 
blackly  across  the  rose  and  gold  of  the  western 
sky. 

"It  is  your  last  night,"  she  told  it,  and  would 
have  gone  in  search  of  the  gardener  to  give  the 
news  but  for  a  sudden  memory.  She  had  stood 
on  that  very  spot  on  a  day  of  high  wind  when 
Christopher  Saxe  had  first  come  through  the 
hedge,  and  she  had  made  a  promise:  she  was 
never  to  cut  down  the  hedge  without  first  tell- 
ing him. 

"I  would  come  from  Timbuctoo  to  save  this 
last  quiet  spot/'  he  had  said.  It  was  a  serious 
promise.  He  had  often  referred  to  it.  And 


THE  STARLING  261 

yet  to  approach  him  now,  when  he  had  left  her 
without  a  word  in  her  great  sorrow,  was  very 
hard.  Or,  at  least,  Sarah  pretended  that  it  was. 
She  would  not  acknowledge  how  outrageously 
glad  she  was  of  an  excuse  to  break  his  silence. 

The  typewriter  would  be  the  coldest  and  most 
formal  mode  of  communicating,  and  she  ran 
up  to  the  attic ;  but  she  had  not  been  there  for 
a  long  time,  and  she  reckoned  without  its  ghost. 
She  had  lit  the  lantern  that  hung  from  a  beam 
and  sat  down  at  her  dusty  machine  before  she 
was  aware  of  it;  then  the  swinging  light  sent 
a  shadow  swinging  up  the  wall,  as  though  a 
long  figure  had  risen  from  the  camphor-wood 
chest  to  tower  over  her.  And  so  the  third  great 
adventure  of  her  life  was  upon  her. 

The  dusky  old  cave  was  as  resonant  as  a 
cathedral  with  a  hidden  organ.  She  sat  motion- 
less, her  hands  lying  curled  in  her  lap,  her  face 
lifted  to  the  revelation.  The  dream,  the  pretty 
game,  the  crossing  of  looks  and  the  touch  of 
hands  that  she  had  called  love,  mattered  no 
more  than  the  treasures  in  the  old  chest.  They 
were  only  the  garments  of  love ;  she  had  found 
the  living  soul  and  body.  Love  was  grave,  like 
religion;  fierce,  like  patriotism;  silent  and  all* 


262  THE  STARLING 

giving,  like  maternity.  It  was  so  that  she  loved 
Christopher  Saxe. 

Nelly's  coming  with  Christopher's  name 
seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
Even  his  quick  step  on  the  stairs  could  not 
break  in  on  her  exaltation.  She  waited  for  him, 
grave  eyes  on  the  door,  and  did  not  remember 
to  speak.  To  him  she  must  have  been  only  a 
shadow  against  the  lantern.  He  did  not  speak, 
either,  but  when  he  came  into  the  light  she  saw 
that  he  breathed  as  if  he  had  been  running,  and 
though  his  lips  were  pressed  tightly  together, 
his  chin  trembled.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man 
who  has  had  an  unbearable  shock. 

"Sarah,  I  didn't  know;"  the  words  had  to 
tear  their  way  out.  "I  have  only — just  this 
moment — heard.  What  have  you — thought  of 
me?  Of  course,  you  haven't  thought  at  all — 
but  I  can't  stand  it,  that  I  didn't  know." 
He  dropped  down  beside  her,  taking  her  hand 
in  his  and  bending  his  face  to  it.  She  drew  him 
closer,  her  other  hand  curled  about  his  head. 
She  had  known,  of  course,  that  he  had  not 
heard ;  she  had  only  pretended  to  doubt  him. 

He  struggled  on  with  his  explanation.  "I 
plunged  off  into  the  redwoods  that  week.  You 


THE  STARLING  263 

see,  your  name  had  been  in  the  papers — every 
day — till  I  couldn't  bear  it.  You  were  so  near, 
and  yet  going  farther  and  farther  away.  I 
dropped  everything,  I  tramped  miles  and  miles, 
and  slept  in  my  blanket,  and  fought  the  thing 
out.  When  I  came  back  I  looked  over  the  pub-, 
lie  news,  but  I  didn't  want  to  see — local  things. 
And  you  going  through  all  that — Sarah,  I  can't 
stand  it.  I  would  have  come  to  you  through 
anything — oh,  I  wish  you  could  know  that  as  I 
know  it!  I  can  not  fear  it."  His  tears  were 
on  her  hand.  She  bent  down  until  she  could 
draw  his  head  to  her  breast. 

"I  know,"  she  said.    "I  know  everything!" 

In  her  compassion,  he  was  only  her  hurt  little 
boy ;  but  a  man's  arms  closed  about  her,  and  it 
was  the  face  of  a  man,  almost  a  strange  man, 
that  was  lifted  so  close  to  hers.  She  shrank 
back  with  a  frightened  cry. 

He  released  her  at  once  and  drew  away,  pull- 
ing up  the  nearest  chair.  It  happened  to  be 
Sarah's  first  little  rocker,  but  he  obliviously 
folded  his  long  frame  into  it,  intent  only  on  re- 
assuring her. 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  he  said  very  quietly. 

She  knew  that  there  was  really  nothing  to 


264  THE  STARLING 

forgive,  since  she  loved  him  like  that,  too,  when 
she  was  alone.  She  could  not  bear  to  have  him 
misunderstand. 

"It  is  just  that — I — haven't  seen  you  for  so 
long,"  she  faltered,  and  that  he  might  find  out 
the  truth  in  spite  of  her,  she  gave  him  a  sorely 
shaken  hand.  He  laid  it  up  under  his  chin, 
evidently  the  heart's  place  for  its  dearest  treas- 
ure, comforting  and  reassuring  it  until  it  re- 
laxed and  of  its  own  accord  turned  to  put  its 
palm  against  his.  He  dropped  his  cheek  to  it, 
then  his  lips,  but  his  eyes  never  left  her  bent 
head. 

"How  did  you  hear?"  she  asked. 

He  turned  back  to  the  bitter  experience  with 
a  shiver.  "I  had  come  over  to  have  an  interview 
with  the  President  of  the  University.  They 
have  offered  me  the  Chair  of  Journalism — did 
you  know  that?  Of  course,  my  book  did  it. 
And  it  is  exactly  what  I  want — a  chance  to 
hammer  at  the  coming  journalists.  We  had 
settled  everything  when  he  said  that  the  sug- 
gestion of  me  for  the  post  had  come  from  Mr. 
Cawthorne  weeks  ago,  but  that  he  had  been 
prevented  from  taking  it  up  again  with  him  be- 
cause of —  Ah,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  He  had 


THE  STARLING  265 

to  have  her  other  hand,  and  the  little  chair  was 
drawn  closer.  "For  I  know  how  you  loved  her. 
I  ran  here — I  ran  all  the  way." 

"It  isn't  all  sad,  Christopher.  Oh,  there  is 
so  much  to  tell  you !"  She  fell  silent  before  it. 
"So  you  will  live  over  here,"  she  said  presently. 

He  smiled  at  that.  "May  I  come  inside  the 
hedge?" 

It  was  the  question  her  hands  had  already 
answered,  but  she  could  not  meet  it  in  words; 
she  was  not  ready  for  all  that  must  follow.  She 
had  to  put  him  off. 

"There  won't  be  any  hedge,"  she  said.  "My 
father  has  given  it  to  me.  He  has  abdicated, 
poor  soul !  I  am  going  to  cut  it  down." 

"Ah,  you  wouldn't  do  that!" 

"Wouldn't  I!" 

"But  you  made  me  a  promise." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  was  just  going  to  write  you  about 
it — a  very  formal  note  on  the  typewriter." 

"Ah,  of  course,  you  have  thought  me  a  dog! 
And  yet" —  his  hands  tightened  on  hers —  "and 
yet — ?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes."  Her  face  flamed.  "You  were  right 
about  Robert.  That  wasn't  real  love.  That  was 
just  dreams." 


266  THE  STARLING 

"And  when  it  went — ?"  he  prompted. 

She  looked  into  his  face,  and  it  was  no  longer 
strange.  "Ah,  then  I  loved  you,"  she  said  with 
an  impulsive  motion  toward  him. 

He  rose  up  as  his  shadow  had  risen  up  the 
wall.  He  drew  her  to  her  feet,  then  lifted  her 
from  them  to  hold  her  tight  against  his  breast, 
his  head  dropped  against  hers.  But  he  set  her 

down,  very  gently,  before  he  kissed  her. 
*         *         * 

"You  really  want  the  hedge,  Christopher?" 

They  sat  on  the  camphor-wood  chest,  just  out- 
side the  circle  of  lantern-light,  with  Sarah's 
crib  on  one  side  of  them  and  her  dolls'  house  on 
the  other. 

"Ah,  I  have  been  beaten  on  by  noise  until  it 
seems  like  Paradise  in  here." 

"But  it  is  ugly,  it's  grim !" 

"We  would  beautify  it.  Make  the  entrance 
twice  as  wide  and  plant  blooming,  inviting 
things  there,  and  train  vines  to  grow  up  on  it, 
and  spill  a  little  of  the  garden  outside.  Trust 
me.  I  will  make  it  a  dream  of  loveliness.  You 
don't  really  want  it  to  go?" 

She  looked  into  her  heart  and  made  the  eter- 
nal discovery.  "Not  if  you  want  it  to  stay." 


THE  STARLING  267 

The  discovery  went  on  and  on  until  it  brought 
her,  shining,  to  the  very  heart  of  the  miracle. 
"I  have  got  out!  Christopher,  I'm  out!" 

He  kissed  her  for  it.  "You  poor  darling,  you 
are  in  for  life,  you  mean,"  he  said  ruefully. 

"No.  Where  you  are,  that  is  being  out.  That 
is  the  whole  world — that  is  life  and  love  and 
people!  I'm  out!  Oh,  this  is  all  I  want — you 
may  have  the  hedge.  But  our  children,  Chris- 
topher— "  She  faltered,  as  if  she  might  turn 
shy,  but  his  natural  assent  carried  her  on 
again : 

"Yes,  dear — our  children?" 

"It  won't  be  enough  for  them.  They  shall 
not  be  shut  in  as  I  was.  Even  if  it  disturbs  us, 
they  must  have  their  lives.  Promise  it,  Chris- 
topher— happy  lives,  like  other  children — par- 
ties and  playmates!" 

"Parties  and  playmates,"  he  promised  them 
gravely,  and  sealed  the  vow. 


THE  END 


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